Big Tree Bear and Wino Heaven

The days were turning cooler, finally dropping below 100°F. I reached Grants Pass and made a decision because I wanted to see the redwood trees, if they survived and how they were doing. I took US 199 back to the coast and joined US 101 at Crescent City. Crescent City was burned like all the other towns. So were the hillsides all around it to the coast. But, I saw occasional patches of douglas fir and other trees in isolated mountainous areas that had escaped the flames. Also, an occasional grove of redwoods or individual tree stood out over the regrowing landscape of 3 to 4 foot trees from seeds that germinated because of the fires.

Working my way south on 101 was slow because I encountered slides, some repaired badly and some that required me to winch my way over. Determined to see how the redwoods were doing further south, I abandoned the trailer in a turnout overlook of the ocean near Orick and let the goats out to fend for themselves confident that Danny would protect his pregnant woman from any other animal wanting to eat her.

As always, Charlie was with me as we winched our way across a mud and rock slide about 50 yards across and finally made it after three quarters of an hour or so of work. Or, I should say, Charlie just enjoyed chattering at me while I carried the heavy cables to tie to the next boulder for the winch to pull me over the mess. Danny and Lannie enjoyed jumping around on the rocks while we worked.

I quickly came to Patrick's Point and realized that another landside there was impassable. The highway disappeared for nearly a half a mile as part of the mountain that created the point had slid into the Pacific. I was still heartened to see redwoods in the distance above me on the mountainsides still standing tall, showing their reputation for surviving fires for over 3000 years. Still wanting to get close, I had to turn around and backtrack. Taking another three quarters of an hour to winch my 579 over that same slide, I vowed never to do that again. The goats were glad to see us, though.

That evening, we pulled off US 199 to the Rogue River just west of Grants Pass for the night at a picnic area. Once again, I was pleased to see the tails of salmon in the riffles. Before it got dark, I snagged three more salmon to Charlie's delight. We feasted on fish again. This time there was no bear because I managed to get two of the salmon cut up and in the refrigerator and freezer. The next morning, I caught two more and staked them out to dry in the hot sun on my drying boards on the sides of the trailer before leaving.

Back on I-5 again, I reentered California. As I saw Mount Shasta ahead, its always beautiful snowcone like appearance had changed. There was no snow cover on the mountain and it had a lopsided appearance. As I drove by, I saw that part of the mountain had blown away similar to Mount Saint Helens a half-century before. I started crying. The child in me mourned the loss of that snowcone and all the other losses that had occurred as a result of the meltdown of society. Charlie began chattering and looking empathetically at me, knowing I was hurting. I wiped my tears on the back of my hand and soldiered onward like I always did. Almost grateful as Mount Shasta faded in my rearview screen. But not from my memory, as I write this so many years later.

But the redwoods that I saw on a trip west in my youth with my family beckoned me. As I approached Redding, I could see lava flowing brilliant orange halfway down Mount Lassen. It made me wonder if the change in the climate or the nuclear plant meltdowns around the world had done something to the way the continental plates stirred up volcanic activity. The Cascade Range was certainly more active than I'd ever seen it my entire life. But then, I remembered that, two years earlier, there was evidence of major earthquakes both in the Bay Area and Los Angeles.

California was doing what it always did, slide into the sea with earthquakes and volcanoes. But, in the four years since everything started happening, there was an appearance of increased activity. Maybe it was the aquifers being drained creating huge cavities underground or, perhaps the increased rains and mudslides greasing the skids. I wasn't a geoscientist, and without any tools, so I could only speculate. Best to stay away from the coast. I didn't.

In Redding, I saw what I was looking for. Not intact buildings and people, but US 299 that could take me to the coast again. The road was rough but I made it to 101 again in two days by nightfall and found what I was looking for, 101A, the Avenue of the Giants. They were there; the giants had survived! But two shot up signs announced, "No Entrance -- One Way" and "No 18 Wheelers or Trailers Over 40 Feet." I thought for a moment, then drove on in. Who was going to stop me? I just hoped that I wouldn't get stuck somewhere and have to back out. I wasn't leaving the goats behind again.

As I drove down the Avenue, I could see that the undergrowth had burned out and was returning slowly and greenly in the shade. The giant trees showed the stress of the heat with their lower branches turned reddish-brown and higher ones at the tip and not growing. But I knew, somehow, they would survive as long as the ocean brought them sufficient dew and occasional rain to replenish their massive water need that only the Pacific Coast provided.

The low rays of the sun were now slanting through the high canopy providing a dappled surface to the road, so I pulled up for the night in a rather beautiful grove and got Danny and Lannie out to feast on the vines that were spreading everywhere. Charlie and I walked down to a creek that trickled alongside the road and made for a beautiful setting. After a meal of fresh salmon, I wanted to sleep out under that grotto. I gathered up a pile of needles to make for a soft bed and got my sleeping bag out to spread on the nice cushion. I put the goats to bed in the trailer and Charlie joined me back at my bed.

At first, the sleeping bag was too warm and I kept it partially unzipped. But shortly after dark, a chilly fog came in with the breeze off the ocean and I had to zip it up. Charlie slept comfortably up against my hip outside the sleeping bag. I was still tired after the exertion of the day before and the damp cool fresh air made me sleep deeply. Sometime after midnight, I heard Charlie chattering in my ear and shaking me in an effort to wake me up.

Still groggy, Charlie went silent, and then dashed for the trees. And then, I heard the familiar snuffing and low growl of a bear very close. Luckily, I was prepared, like always. I unzipped the sleeping bag as quietly as I could and reached for a flare in the bag I had placed next to my sleeping bag. I sat up and struck it. The flare lit up the whole area and revealed a giant grizzly, ten feet away. The bear backed away and stood up his full height, blinded by the flare, but in a stance ready to fight this bright thing confronting him.

I couldn't throw the flare because the ground was littered with dead needles that had come off the tree since the last fire came through and I knew they would go up in a flash if ever ignited, endangering me as well as the trees again. So, I got up and stood up as tall as I could raising the flare high, almost but not quite the height of the grizzly's eyes which reflected the red light of the flare and made him look even more menacing.

I decided to attack, rather than retreat, knowing that the flare would burn him badly. Still holding the flare high, I moved on the standing bear. For all his bravado, he turned and ran. Totally unsure if he could fight this blinding hot, smelly menace. Still holding the flare high, I followed him down the hillside to the creek where he stopped, turned around and started sneaking back like he was going to surprise me, not knowing that I could see far better than he could. I started running toward him again. When he saw me coming, he turned tail and ran across the creek with a loud splash and up the hillside behind making lots of crashing noises as he tore through the brush trying to get away.

I had thoroughly scared that bear to wits. But going back to sleep was hard. Charlie came back down out of the nearest redwood tree and joined me again, giving me reassurance that he knew the bear was gone. I wasn't so sure and didn't fall asleep until I saw the light streaming through the canopy and knew that it was time to get up.

I didn't have to turn around the whole stretch of 101A to 101 again. I was grateful for that because the road was very narrow. Fortunately, the curves through the trees were gentle enough so that the trailer didn't scar any of them any more than they already were. Once back on 101 headed south, the going was much easier without coastal landslides in my way. But I knew that I couldn't go directly into San Francisco so I took California 128 to the west to the Napa Valley by mid afternoon.

The valley had burned like everything else, but the rows of grapes on the hillsides were still there, choked with weeds and even trees that were growing between the rows no longer meticulously maintained by the owners. I pulled over by the nearest rows of grapes. Charlie and I got out to take a look. The vines were laden with a heavy load of ripe and ripening grapes. We both started plucking them and popping them into our mouths. They tasted sweet and wonderful. We couldn't get enough. But I remembered the cherries, so stopped eating after a while. Charlie didn't. I guess his memory wasn't that good.

I let Danny and Lannie out and they begin to enjoy the weeds, grapes and grape vines indiscriminately. I started picking berries and trying to figure out where I would put them in the loaded trailer. I just couldn't pass up the bounty I found. At one point, I saw that the grapes had been stripped from the vine and realized that California was not named the Bear State for nothing. There was also a lot of evidence of birds having their fill on the ripening grapes as well, I saw them flying in and out of the fields. Gulls had flown in from nearby lakes, the San Francisco Bay and the Pacific Ocean. Blackbirds and starlings were everywhere. I also expected that small mammals like raccoons were feasting on the bounty, too.

Charlie showed signs of over doing it again. I let him retch for a bit while I loaded the goats back on the trailer. And then, we continued on down the highway looking for a place to spend the night. A wide entrance with a tattered and burned sign that once read, Robert Monteray Winery, looked serviceable for an 18 wheeler, so I pulled in and found several burned outbuildings but plenty of room to maneuver my truck knocking down grass and small trees that had grown up through the drive but already turned brown in the late summer rainless heat.

I got Danny and Lannie out again and let them forage while Charlie and I wandered around the burned out buildings to see if we could find anything. The fires had been so hot that steel and glass had melted. We came upon a hillside entrance with a massive locked door. There was a padlock. So, I warned Charlie as best I could and fired a shot into the padlock with my 357. Charlie jumped up and started spinning in circles and peeing as if asking, "What did you do that for? Scared the piss out of me!"

The lock had broken away allowing me to open the heavy door. It led to a tunnel inside the hillside that soon opened out into a very large underground chamber holding many barrels, and bottles of brandy and wine aging to perfection. Unfortunately, some of the wines were already too old for good drinking, but the brandy was in its prime.

There was evidence that much of the wine and liquor had been removed, but the undamaged lock confirmed that it was probably the owners or managers taking all they could before they left. Charlie was not above tasting the various wines and brandies with me as I sampled to see what I would take. Before long, I noticed that Charlie was becoming drunk as he started losing his equilibrium. He was small, and alcohol hit him much harder than me.

We emerged from the underground storage area only to find that two eagles had descended upon the goats. One was on the ground strutting around with its wings up and threatening. The other had its talons in the back of a very upset Lannie, bleating her lungs out as she tried to shake the bird from her back trying to fly off with her. Danny was doing his part by ramming the eagle with his horns and keeping it off-center enough so that it couldn't break Lannie's neck with its beak.

I ended the fight with my 357 Magnum that entered the neck of the bird and broke it. The diverted bullet slammed into the side of the trailer and stuck there. Lannie shook the bird off and Danny came after me he was so agitated. I sidestepped him a couple of times bringing the pistol grip down on his head until he calmed down. The other eagle had flown off in the commotion and was circling overhead.

I got out my first aid kit and cleaned Lannie's wounds. She had a gash on her neck from the sharp point of the eagle's beak, and deep wounds from its talons. I disinfected each one and stitched them up with a couple of staples. Lannie was a good patient and didn't complain too much although I wish I could have sedated her with some of that wine like I was.

We went to bed early in the sleeper because it was quite warm, I needed to catch up from the sleep loss the night before and the wine made me sleepy. The last thing I did before we went to bed was remove the fish that had dried sufficiently in the two days since I had staked them there. With the goats in the trailer and us in the sleeper, I slept safe and well.

The next morning, after breakfast, I had the goats follow Charlie and me into the storage room and I gathered as many bottles as I could stash in every nook and cranny on the truck and trailer. No reason to pass up a good thing. It would be a long winter.