tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387938752477586752024-03-14T02:34:23.276-07:00Jim&Shirl's" Wild Places"Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-46905327393521853232017-03-27T15:42:00.000-07:002017-03-27T16:08:42.516-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi40zQlKAhv4H374liWtUkhaK9alaQifDMQ58T-hUPfT3yeuH3yXR2T8gxedOz1PK5SItb_MafefL_ZoCH-PE63x8Y55z0U3icCjT80ctSV_OEqlp_crQVeGHgGqBF2BJ70maQ-032_z1H9/s1600/Randy+%2526+Jim+White-Meadow+Lk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi40zQlKAhv4H374liWtUkhaK9alaQifDMQ58T-hUPfT3yeuH3yXR2T8gxedOz1PK5SItb_MafefL_ZoCH-PE63x8Y55z0U3icCjT80ctSV_OEqlp_crQVeGHgGqBF2BJ70maQ-032_z1H9/s320/Randy+%2526+Jim+White-Meadow+Lk.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Randy & Jim White-breakfast at Meadow Lake</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi90SKjYK-9jIy3Njkv-d0bUb566I9ew1llgR-5xNnZalDJgGjRjMbAnSKwPk8X8hGq_YGPFNqq0sjxflZfj5rZjVLmmfbqR_jtmnLLvA0BvzymJhl87MiSSOA7-BsBD3QxC9-fxPCzly4i/s1600/Randy+in+Sno+Trench+camp%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi90SKjYK-9jIy3Njkv-d0bUb566I9ew1llgR-5xNnZalDJgGjRjMbAnSKwPk8X8hGq_YGPFNqq0sjxflZfj5rZjVLmmfbqR_jtmnLLvA0BvzymJhl87MiSSOA7-BsBD3QxC9-fxPCzly4i/s320/Randy+in+Sno+Trench+camp%25232.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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Randy in trench shelter at Faucherie Lake</h3>
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<h2>
Wilderness Ski Tour</h2>
<h3>
Donner Pass to Bear Valley-Nevada County</h3>
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After 50 year of high Sierra ski touring there was one tour I wanted to do but just had not got around to doing. It was what I thought was an easy 4 day tour from Donner Pass to Bear Valley, in Nevada County, California. So in early May in the early 1980's, My son Randy, friend Gary and I took off from Donner Pass, skiing on very deep snow from a very good winter.</div>
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The plan was to ski from Donner Pass to our first camp at North Creek,downstream from Paradise Lk.,second night at Meadow Lake elevation 7200 ft.,camp and then to the Grouse Ridge lookout, spend the night there and then downhill ski to the Bear Valley home of a friend of mine where my wife would pick us up. I thought four to five days at the most. It was an early spring fun trip with plans to take lots of photographs for a planned slide show I could use in my Snow Training classes. One hour after this early morning breakfast picture taken at Meadow Lake, it was snowing so hard that we had to leave the high ridge we were following to the Grouse Ridge Lookout, and by navigating by compass seek refuge from this raging storm at Faucherie Lake, where we thought we could find some shelter from the 40 mph winds and heavy snowfall. We found out later that I80 had to be closed to all traffic for 24 hrs. because of this un-expected storm. Weather predictions were not like they are today and of course, cell phones had not been invented then. We had over 3 feet of new snow the next morning, but nice sunshine, at Faucherie Lake. </div>
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Skiing in snow that deep is very slow and tiring. We changed the trail breaking chore every 10 min. or so. By noon we had made less than one mi. from our camp. It was going to be another 3 days to break trail to Bear Valley for sure. Surprised for sure, one of my snow school students at Sierra College who owned a large company in Grass Valley that used a Helicopter came looking for us, just to see how we were doing! They landed nearby and my student jumped out of the copter and asked if everything was O.K and I suggested we could use a ride. We all were in Bear Valley withing an hour. It was a nice ski tour, and I am glad I had such nice friends .P.S. My friend who owned the company and the helicopter got an A in the Wilderness Skiing class. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-15250543752441851992016-12-23T12:21:00.000-08:002016-12-23T12:21:17.217-08:00<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 18.0pt;">Lost: </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">A
True Story<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b>By Jim L White<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>It had been a great day of skiing at Sugar Bowl, even
though it had stormed all day. The storm had brought lots of that cold light
powder snow Sugar Bowl ski area has been famous for. We had been riding the
chairlift and skiing on <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Mt.</st1:placetype>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Disney</st1:placename></st1:place> during the storm.
There was a poma lift and a rope tow lift too at Sugar Bowl, but the Disney
chairlift was the only chairlift in the Donner <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Summit</st1:place></st1:city> area during the winter of 1946-47.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b> We were all so
young, most of us just out of the armed forces after World War 2. This was a <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Sacramento Jr.</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">College</st1:placetype></st1:place> (later called <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Sacramento</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">City</st1:placetype>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">College</st1:placetype></st1:place>) Ski Club ski
trip. We had met early that morning at the old Gibson Bus station on <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">12<sup>th</sup> street</st1:address></st1:street>
in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Sacramento</st1:place></st1:city>
for a ski club day outing at Sugar Bowl. Most of us skied at Soda Springs ski
hill, where all they had was a J bar and a rope tow lift. Going to Sugar Bowl
to ride the Disney chairlift was a really big deal to us. We of course rode on
the tractor pulled sled from Soda Springs all the way into the Sugar Bowl. What
a lot of happy laughing college kids, the Donner Blizzard underway was no
problem for us at all<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>After the hard day of skiing in the storm and back in the
bus at Soda Springs we were ready to head down the hill and go home. The bus
lurched forward and out on old highway 40, heading down the hill when the
leader started a head count. Something was not right, the count was wrong. Was
someone missing? Someone asked where Grant Cox was and no one seems to know.
The leader yelled at the driver to stop. He counted heads again. We were one
person short!<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b> Grant Cox was a
really good skier and mountain man. He was older than most of us, mid 20s or
so. Grant had been in the Rangers, a specially trained combat unit, trained to
survive in any weather conditions. Survival skills were a Rangers main game.
They were experts in survival. He would be O.K., probably just missed the
tractor sled train leaving the bowl at <st1:time hour="16" minute="0" w:st="on">4pm</st1:time>.
He was probably hoofing it out along the edge of Lake Van Norden. Nothing to do
though but to send a party back up the road to look and if he was not on the
road to check out the lodge at Sugar Bowl. A small party of volunteers got off
the bus to go search, the rest of the group continued on to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Sacramento</st1:place></st1:city>. A phone call later that night confirmed
that Grant’s model A Ford was still parked at the Gibson Bus Depot, his
ski-trooper ruck sack was found at the bottom of the chairlift where he had
left it that morning. The search for Grant Cox, ex <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">U.S.</st1:place></st1:country-region> Ranger, Mountain Man, and
expert skier was on.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>The Donner Blizzard continued all night with more than
four feet of new snow on the ground by the next morning. Many of the ski club
members had returned by morning along with many volunteers from the Soda
Springs and <st1:place w:st="on">Truckee</st1:place> area. We formed a search
party of about 25 people, headed by U.S.F.S. ranger Max Williamson. Later Constable
Johansson from <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Tahoe</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">City</st1:placetype></st1:place> joined the party,
representing <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Placer</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>. At Sugar Bowl, interrogation
of ski club members in regards to who had seen Grant last, revealed that I had
been the last one to see him. He had ridden up the lift with me at about 3:25pm
just before the lift closed at 4pm. He was wearing a ski trooper reversible ski
parka with the white side out. We got off the lift on top of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Mt.</st1:placetype> <st1:placename w:st="on">Disney</st1:placename></st1:place>
in zero visibility. Grant turned east, headed toward the <st1:place w:st="on">Palisades</st1:place>
(a ridge of rock pinnacles along the highest ridge) and I turned toward the west,
headed down the Meadow Run. Grant was not visible to me after about 20 feet of
travel. This was my last run for the day since the storm had been very tiring. The lift closed at <st1:time hour="16" minute="0" w:st="on">4pm</st1:time> and it was dark almost at once.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b> Bill Kline, head
of the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Sugar</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Bowl</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Ski</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">School</st1:placetype></st1:place> talked to the search party about
snow safety. Bill said avalanches were going to be a major danger to our search
party. Bill introduced a Swiss ski instructor named
Rusty who gave us a 30 min lecture on avalanche survival, telling us the
avalanche danger was extreme and teaching us how to swim if we were caught in a
avalanche. He warned us to stay away from the <st1:place w:st="on">Palisades</st1:place>
and the bottom of any steep north facing slopes. The bottom of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Mt.</st1:placetype> <st1:placename w:st="on">Lincoln</st1:placename></st1:place>
was also to be avoided. The search group
was very somber. It had been snowing more than one inch each hour all night with
no let up in sight. Rusty looked grim as we were divided up into search teams
of 3. We had no radios or way to notify others if Grant was found (only the
military had walkie talkies) so we were told the ski school bell would be rung
which would be a signal to return to the lodge. My team was assigned to ride up
the lift and ski along the ridge to the Crow’s nest (a rock pinnacle along the
ridge to the west) calling out Grant’s name as loud as we could. After reaching
the Crow’s Nest we descended in waist deep snow and plodded over to the upper
end of Lake Van Norden. Most of the searchers were dressed in war surplus ski clothing,
since regular ski clothing was expensive and not much of it was really on the
market for us to buy. The mostly cotton and nylon ski parkas were soon soaked from
the warming storm and felt like they weighed a ton. Our skis were made of
laminated wood and equipped with cable bindings which when adjusted loosely,
permitted our heels to rise up and made hiking in the heavy snow possible. We
had to stop from time to time to scrape frozen ice from the bottom of our skis.
This added to our labor in this deep soft snow. Most of our ski bottoms were
pine tarred or painted with a coating to permit them to slide, and this worked
poorly in this kind of snow. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b> Back at the lodge
we found every one soaked and tired but willing to go out again. Several very
loud roars were heard as avalanches thundered down from the <st1:place w:st="on">Palisades</st1:place>
and <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Mt.</st1:placetype> <st1:placename w:st="on">Lincoln</st1:placename></st1:place>. We were warned again not to go
near that area since it was too dangerous. This of course was the very area
Grant was last seen heading for. We searched until dark and found nothing. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>That night we were housed in the Chalet ( separate from
the main lodge, it was equipped with bunk beds and was a less expensive way to
stay at Sugar Bowl) and were fed bowls of hot beef stew and French bread which
we wolfed down as only exhausted young men could do. We sat around after dinner
and wondered if Grant could have gone south over the summit ridge and into the
Onion Creek drainage. This was a wild steep area which drained into the north
fork of the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">American</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place>. If we went down into Onion Creek in this very
deep snow, how would we ever get back up the hill? Lying in bed that night we listened to the
wind howl and the snow blow against the windows of the chalet. I wondered where
Grant, right at this moment could be? It stormed all night. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>The storm continued for 4 more days with highway 40
closed most of the time. The storm turned so warm that it almost rained on our
already soaked clothing. We had done every thing we could do, and it was not
enough. The search was called off at this time. The Sugar Bowl staff was to keep an eye out
for Grant the rest of the winter and we agreed to meet the next summer for a
ground search, after the snow had melted, but nothing was found.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>To our great sadness, Grant Cox was never seen again, nor
was his remains ever located. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>Copyrighted 2007<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b> By: Jimmy L White<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on"><b>Auburn</b></st1:city><b>,
<st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state></b></st1:place><b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>Footnote: This
story first was published in the February 2008 issue of Sierra Heritage
magazine. About 2 months later I was contacted by a woman, who someone had sent
my story, who said she was on our ski-bus trip and had been with Grant Cox at
Sugar Bowl that day. She also stated that she was engaged to marry Grant Cox.
She reminded me that she had pounded on the bus door when the bus was ready to
leave, to see if Grant was in the bus. Her call jarred my memory and I did
remember her pounding on the door and asking about Grant. This was followed by
our head count and the first discovery that Grant Cox was indeed missing. In
her call to me, 62 years after our ski trip, she wanted to know if Grant had
ever been found? I was in shock that this woman was still remembering our trip
and still wondering if Grant had been found. I told her no” that Grant had not
been found and then she mentioned “how hard it had been on Grant’s parents and
her. Talk about a “ghost from out of my past”. I still cannot forget our loss
of Grant Cox.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>Skier with the Palisades in the background where we think Grant died in an avalanche.</b></div>
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<b>A ski searcher on the ridge behind Mt. Lincoln in a storm.</b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-4950598886019945982016-07-29T14:16:00.003-07:002016-07-29T14:16:50.035-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAejRBMxXrnTdlKl3netLoFl_Vbedof24SedWBPJng6Nri_ZvrTcRaWauivdR4lFhPyjPfYx7vnmTyy2a2IgGJDvNgTePcxFx-eK7GzTEVhSPl7HAuGCCn93GO76PFcTHlE8qMBdm_wL4O/s1600/Fong-Comissary+cook-SP+Donner+Smt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAejRBMxXrnTdlKl3netLoFl_Vbedof24SedWBPJng6Nri_ZvrTcRaWauivdR4lFhPyjPfYx7vnmTyy2a2IgGJDvNgTePcxFx-eK7GzTEVhSPl7HAuGCCn93GO76PFcTHlE8qMBdm_wL4O/s320/Fong-Comissary+cook-SP+Donner+Smt.jpg" width="317" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoTitle">
FONG THE FAMOUS SNOW SHED COOK<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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By Jim L White</div>
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Late at night, deep in the dark and cold snow sheds of the
Southern Pacific Railroad near Donner Pass, Fong, the Chinese cook sat alone
smoking cigarettes and reading his Chinese newspaper. The snow was deep on the
sheds and as usual, Fong was waiting for the next train to stop on the nearby
tracks, and the crew that would come in for dinner and the hot coffee perking
in the pot nearby. Fong was the full time cook for the A.V. Moan Co. of San
Francisco who operated the 24 hour commissary near <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Norden</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state></st1:place>
from at least the late 1940’s to the late 1960’s.</div>
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Out of the corner of his eye, Fong saw the light go out in
the hall way outside of the door leading into this restaurant deep in the
Norden snow sheds. He got up, went into the back room to get a new bulb and
then walked thru the kitchen to the door going out to the long tunnel-ramp that
led down from the tracks above. He reached up to un-screw the bulb and the
light came on. The bulb was only loose. That was funny, Fong would say later,”
how come bulb loose by self”. He screwed the bulb in firmly and returned to his
seat behind the stainless steel counter, his cigarette and newspaper. He turned the page and noticed the light in
the outside hall went out again. It could not be vibration from a passing train
that loosened the bulb since no train had passed by in some time. He got up,
went out the door and found the bulb loose again.” How come, how come “ Fong
would shout in his sing-song English and then suddenly, Fong was seeing stars in
the light bulb with severe pain in his head and neck as the butt of a rifle
crashed into his skull and caused him to fall to the floor. All Fong could
think of to do was to scream in Chinese at the top of his lungs. In fact his
screaming was so loud that it frightened his attackers who ran out a back door
that opened out to the deep snow on the hillside below.</div>
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Leaving a trail of blood, Fong made his was back into the
kitchen and in broken English on the railroad phone got the dispatcher in <st1:city w:st="on">Roseville</st1:city> to call the
sheriff’s office to report the robbery. The next morning the sheriff’s officers
found and followed deep foot tracks in the snow, heading toward Sugar Bowl.
There were two of them, Mexican track hands that were caught hiding in the
trees nearby.</div>
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I first met Fong Quong back in the late 1940’s when I was
working as a weekend ski patroller at the Soda Springs Ski Area. This was back
when “Mad Dog Dick Buek” was the hottest skier on the summit and his father
Carl, checked tickets and loaded skiers on the pomo lift and rope tow at Soda
Springs Ski Area.. I remember well since my girlfriend charmed Carl into
letting her ride the lift without buying a ticket. I guess we were a rag tag
group of college kids with our war surplus clothing and ski-trooper white skis.
A chance to eat at a very low cost was too good to pass up. The word was out.
All you had to do was enter the huge dark wooden snow sheds just east of Soda
Springs and walk in the dark for about one quarter of a mile to where a lone
light bulb above a door marked the entrance to the long covered ramp that led
down to the S.P. Commissary. The trick was to not get hit by a train that could
come around a bend in the sheds with a terrible roar and noise while we clung
to the walls of the shed, inches from the huge steel monster. One had to
believe that there was enough space between the train and the walls of the snow
shed for us to cling to life and survive this monster of a train. The noise was
terrifying. </div>
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I always thought Fong must have known how poor we college
kids were because a complete steak dinner, fried potatoes, canned green peas,
all the coffee you could drink, and a slab of pie always cost one dollar. That
was one dollar for all of us. It did not seem to matter how many of us there
were, since later, when my girlfriend and I went alone, it was still “ won
dallar”. The pie was always a deep-dish
fruit pie; each pie cut in four pieces and a piece a whole meal by itself.</div>
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Years later after college and two careers later, my job
led me to wander over old Donner Pass on highway 40 from to time and I would
stop on the edge of the highway just up the hill from the Sierra Club lodge,
walk down the steep rough hillside to the small opening in the huge wooden snow
sheds and brave the dark, to walk towards Soda Springs and the single light
bulb above the door leading down to the Commissary and my friend Fong.</div>
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After I read in the paper about the robbery and injury of
Fong, I hurried up to Norden to hear the story from Fong himself. I of course
had the wonderful steak dinner, fried potatoes, and this time canned corn, with
one quarter of a cherry pie. Twenty years later it was still only “won dallar”.
I felt like I was home again! I asked Fong to tell me his frightening story
himself and asked if he had recovered? I also wondered how he had been doing at
the gambling tables in <st1:city w:st="on">Reno</st1:city>.
Fong’s working hours were twenty-four hours each day, seven days a week. He was
given ( or took on his own) an afternoon each month when he would take the
Greyhound bus to <st1:city w:st="on">Reno</st1:city>
to gamble. Sometimes he won which he talked about, but he never mentioned it
when his “luck run out”. This time he said his “luck veery bad” and “he go home
<st1:country-region w:st="on">China</st1:country-region>”.
I was not sure I heard him right so I asked again and he said, “ Fong luck
veery bad, he go home <st1:country-region w:st="on">China</st1:country-region>
to die”. I heard him right this time a sat there in shock! I could not imagine
Donner Summit with out my friend Fong. I tried to talk him out of it, but then
he explained, he “ not want to die far from home”. He had been loosing at his
gambling, and almost getting killed by the robbers was just too much. Time to
go home to die.</div>
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Fong was always very polite to us, hustled around the
kitchen to fix our meals when we were kids in college and years latter when we
stopped by as working adults, was still very polite to everyone. The train
crews that came in while we were there spoke to Fong as if he was dumb, and
berated him for almost everything. A number of steaks were returned by the
train crews and some nights the racial
insults were embarrassing to hear. It seems that the abuse of the Chinese who
worked on the railroad was not limited to the building of the railroad in the
1870’s but continued a hundred years later.</div>
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Somehow I think Fong must have been received in <st1:country-region w:st="on">China</st1:country-region> as
someone special, and found his peace at last. He was a good human being and I
still miss him and the old wooden snow sheds which are now gone. They have been
replaced by concrete snow sheds and the train crews are on their own when in
comes to eating at Norden. I can’t even find a steak dinner for $10.00 on
Donner Summit now days. </div>
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Copyright 2016 Jimmy L White-Auburn, Ca.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-79014533021409490172016-06-28T14:18:00.000-07:002016-06-28T14:18:04.486-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">ROYAL GORGE OF THE
AMERICAN RIVER<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By Jim and Shirley White<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tahoe
National Forest Supervisor Richard Bigelow saddled up his horse at Emigrant
Gap, mounted, and headed south for Westville on the Foresthill divide to
investigate a report of a large forest fire burning near Michigan Bluff. It was
5 A.M. on August 1, 1909. Ranger Bigelow had given orders to the trail crew at
Mumford’s Bar on May 18<sup>th</sup>, to build a trail from Mumford’s Bar on
the North Fork of the American River to Emigrant Gap for just this kind of
emergency. He had a report that the trail was completed and now was the time
not only to inspect the trail job, but to use this new trail to lend a hand in
fighting this important fire. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ranger
Bigelow rode his horse across the North Fork of the North Fork, the East Fork
of the North Fork and then climbed almost one thousand feet up Texas Hill where
he continued south three miles and hit the new Mumford’s bar trailhead at a
place that was later named Government Springs. Later he would have a water trough
installed there for travelers to water their horses before the terrible two thousand
feet decent to the American River and a gold miner’s cabin called Mumford’s Bar
Cabin. Upstream from Mumford’s Bar about 7 miles was the jewel of the North
Fork called the Royal Gorge because of the remarkable beauty of the river running
thru the huge soring cliffs between Snow Mountain and the Wabena Ridge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One hundred
and four years later, on November 30, 2013, my wife Shirley and I headed south from
Emigrant Gap in our jeep, along this same trail to photograph the Royal Gorge
of the North Fork of the American River. About eight miles of the old trail is
now a road and paved. At the end of the pavement we turned east off the old
trail on forest road 19, a dirt road, headed for the abandoned site of the Big
Valley Bluff fire lookout. Two thousand feet below the old site we could see
both downstream to the Mumford’s Bar Cabin and upstream to Heath Springs, in the
upper part of the canyon. Just below the lookout site hidden in the trees was
Palmer Camp, a mining camp used during the Great Depression by a miner named
Palmer who raised his family there. The old Palmer cabin on the north side of
the river was still standing during my last visit 20 years ago. This year we could
see at least a mile of the river was dry, with only a hidden flow of water
below the river gravel. We laughed as we remembered back in 1947 when we had
driven my 1946 Pontiac out to Government Springs and had hiked down to the
river and back in one day. Shirley was 18 and I was 20 years old and that hike
almost killed us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In late
July, 1955 I had visited with Bill Watson, Forest Service lookout at Big Valley
Bluff lookout, who told me of seeing several Golden Eagles flying below his
lookout on some days. The old trail to the lookout was rough back in the 1950’s,
and I had to hike a mile from my car to get to this outstanding view. Parts of
the old trail to the lookout are still visible to this day. The lookout of
course is long gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On this
recent trip to the lookout the weather was perfect. Not a breath of air was
stirring, and a few clouds made the scene special. We photographed the Royal Gorge
and the river canyon below from a number of promontories to the east of the
lookout, always looking below, hoping to see an Eagle. After a couple of hours
it was time to go and we reluctantly headed the jeep up along the sharp ridge
out with one glance back down the canyon. And there they were, two Golden
Eagles, with fixed wings, gliding below us. I let out a yell, stopped the jeep,
grabbed the camera with the long lens, and drew down on the birds below. The
auto focus lens would not focus! The target was too small, the lens was not
fast enough to focus, who knows what went wrong? We missed the shot. The birds
apparently landed below the point of the cliff where we could not see them. We
were to photograph no eagles today. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ranger Bigelow
rode his horse down into the American River canyon 2000 feet below Government
Springs and then back up to the Foresthill road at Westville where he ate
dinner. After dinner he received a message that the fire had jumped over
Deadwood Ridge. He saddled back up and was on the fire line by 4 PM. He supervised the fire fight till midnight,
slept on the line waiting for daylight. He then worked on the fire line the
next 3 days and established a camp to feed the fire fighters. After this fire was out Ranger Bigelow rode
his horse up Ralston Ridge, to French Meadows and three days later arrived back
home in Nevada City. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">While
sitting on the cliff at Big Valley Bluff and looking down on Mumford’s Bar, we
talked about Ranger Bigelow and his epic horse trips throughout the Tahoe
National Forest. I have a copy of his diary, but I really wish he had had a camera.
The Royal Gorge must have been even more royal those many years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Ranger Supervisor Bigelow</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">American River in the Royal George</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Copyright 2016 by Jimmy L White</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-59089769729679644502016-06-15T16:24:00.001-07:002016-06-22T16:30:50.490-07:00<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">SAFE FROM THE STORM<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By Jim L White<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Shirley looking at the area of my adventure</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I remember
the “deer hair spider” dry fly floating on the surface of Needle Lake, the rush
of adrenalin that caused my rod arm to strike and bury the steel of the
barbless hook into the Brook Trout’s jaw. A yell from my son Randy from across
the lake, he had a fish on too! A fish on every few minutes was the rule that
day so many years ago. Surely I could relive those moments again today?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I parked the
truck along the “Johnny Hodson-Lyons Peak” road just south of Red Star Ridge
that late August day in 1960. Un-loading my two Labradors, Sage and Molly, with
my rod in my hand and small rucksack with my day gear on my back, I headed up
the hill to cross Red Star ridge to my east in what looked like on my map, a
shortcut in to Needle Lake. Not only did I want to fish the lake a little to
check on fish survival from the winter freeze, but also check the lake for
fishermen. Another reason I wanted to do this hike was, if possible, find a
hidden deer camp I had had rumors about. The information was that hunters from
this camp often crossed over Red Star Ridge (the game refuge boundary) from
their camp and illegally hunted deer in the French Meadows Game Refuge. You see
I was in fact working as a California State Fish and Game Warden, stationed in
Auburn, California. This was my job.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Climbing up
the steep hillside was easy, but on the other side I discovered a huge basin of
truck sized granite blocks I must climb thru. Somewhere below those Granite
blocks might be the hidden deer camp. I had to lift the dogs many times over
huge rocks and carry them thru some bad crevasses to make it into the timber. I
decided that when we returned, we were going to follow the high ridge that ran
from Needle Peak to Lyons Peak, where walking should be easier along the ridge
top, even though it was longer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We found the
deer camp in a little meadow in the thick timber. The tree trunks at the camp
were hanging with pots and pans, grills, ladles and dippers, all the makings of
a deer camp. The ashes were old and the campfire had not been used yet this
year. Deer season opened next month and I was already making plans to be on the
refuge boundary ridge above on my horse ready to intercept hunters if they
came.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The hike to
the lake from the deer camp took only an hour more and I found no one there.
Might as well check and see if the trout were home. On my first cast, the Deer
Hair fly hooked up with a good sized brook trout and the fight was on. After I
released the fish I looked up and saw lightning strike the rock needle on the
high ridge above. We ran for shelter too late and were drenched by the heavy
down pour from the thunder storm that came out of nowhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The dogs and
I hid under a thick young Red Fir tree, one small enough not to attract
lightning I hoped. Three hours later there was no let- up in the storm. I
thought for sure it would be over by four PM, time for me to get back to the
truck while still daylight. No such luck. I studied the map and the only safe
way with all the lightning along the ridge above, was to go down and cross the
many small tributaries of the North Fork of the American River and hike out the
trail down to the Cedars, a settlement of summer homes along the river. There I could hit the French Meadows road back
to the Hodson-Lyons’s Peak road where I had turned off and driven over Red Star
Ridge. It looked like a twelve mile walk, but I was young, felt strong and it
was better than spending the night in the rain at Needle Lake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fording all
the many hip deep tributaries to the American River was a wet, cold experience.
The North Fork itself, although roaring swift was not bad. The river was waist
deep water, but a good rock bottom. On the other side of the river was the main
trail. I had it made. All I had was about eleven more miles, much in the dark
and rain and I would be at my truck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> After an hour I was at the Cedars, very cold
and wishing I could find someone to drive me to my truck. This is when I
thought of spending the night at the Sherman Chickering cabin at the original
Soda Springs nearby. This was the site of the old Hopkins Hotel, from the late
1880’s. Sherman had been president of the California Fish and Game Commission
when I had guided the Commission members and some legislators into Upper Fish
Valley, Alpine County to see the rare Paiute Trout, we were trying to save. He
had mentioned if I was ever in the area of the Cedars to please stop by. Boy
did I need the warmth and comfort of that cabin now. There was a light on in
the cabin but no one was home. I thought of taking shelter on his porch, but it
was too cold and a little snow was beginning to fall. Maybe I could get a ride
on the nearby county road? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Two hours of
hiking later it had become very dark and a soft snow was falling. I had turned
off the French Meadows road and was hiking high up the Hodson’s-Lyons Peak road
when I saw the silhouette of a man with a hat on crossing the road ahead of me.
The strong smell of a large band of sheep nearby made me think it might be a
Basque Sheepherder that I had saw. But he had disappeared. When I got up the
road higher a man stepped out of the black and said something I could not
understand. Then I saw him make the motion of drinking a cup of coffee. I tried
to talk and say yes, but I could only let out a croak. I was too cold to talk.
Down the dark hillside I followed him to the sheep camp and a warm crackling
fire. Barking dogs that snarled at my dogs
were cursed and remanded to the fireside. My exhausted and tired dogs lay on
one side of the campfire, the herder’s dogs on the other. I knew only another
one half mile up the road was my truck, and two hours later I would be home. The
herder offered me a mug of hot coffee, lamb stew, and sourdough bread just
baked in the campfire. I shivered and ate until I felt warm again. I was safe
from the storm. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Needle Lake<br />
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Copyright 2016 by Jim L White</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-47271881034228718092016-02-09T16:23:00.001-08:002016-02-09T16:23:52.660-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4v29hk5gnfnlKVBy-0ZAmteK19oL1AtgSkfGoohwWje3gBO9We5LyJpyPlZAbaq8P5QnsmzAkdEkduGRWJP6akixte3mWCCKD1Yfnd6BVMnQ1nwJLcLBlw7Ghp99KMW998lAkn9InSG6n/s1600/Mountain+Man-%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4v29hk5gnfnlKVBy-0ZAmteK19oL1AtgSkfGoohwWje3gBO9We5LyJpyPlZAbaq8P5QnsmzAkdEkduGRWJP6akixte3mWCCKD1Yfnd6BVMnQ1nwJLcLBlw7Ghp99KMW998lAkn9InSG6n/s320/Mountain+Man-%25232.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Ray Nilsson has gone off to ride the high country, forever. We lost Fish and Game Patrol Captain Ray Nilsson on Jan. 24,2016. Ray was born on Aug.9,1924. He had a wonderful life. His last assignment was as Fish and Game Patrol Captain(Yerka). He was part of band of men who spent the working days protecting California's wildlife and other natural resources. He was at one time part of my Wildlife Protection squad, headquartered in Auburn, Ca. who worked 5 counties, from Donner Pass, Nevada County south to Sonora Pass. Each man was responsible for about one thousand square miles each. This was back in the time when Wardens worked as many hours as it took to do the job. Many did not take vacation, because there was no one to cover for them. Here is my squad who worked the high country and made me proud.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpKap4kXZIX8dz9UyUdQrqSRQspSB8n1iGOvhy8ABC673BeG9gFs9eJKrqcDg-QpPBSsIgvqs7RlHAY8-sev_J-ei1BqYFPm8pypOzVbMtTvdtzrSfpPu5KdFGWvTeJ_Bd7igguTE0ONG9/s1600/Auburn+Captain%2527s+District+1960%2527s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpKap4kXZIX8dz9UyUdQrqSRQspSB8n1iGOvhy8ABC673BeG9gFs9eJKrqcDg-QpPBSsIgvqs7RlHAY8-sev_J-ei1BqYFPm8pypOzVbMtTvdtzrSfpPu5KdFGWvTeJ_Bd7igguTE0ONG9/s320/Auburn+Captain%2527s+District+1960%2527s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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They were(from the left to right) Bill Hart,(south Lake Tahoe), Ernie Skinner,(Sutter Creek) Curt Kastner,(Georgetown) Artie Brown,(Markleeville) Ed Johnson, (Placerville)Wayne Caldwell,( Auburn) and Ray Nilsson(Foresthill)/ . All are now gone, except, to my knowledge, Curt Kastner.</div>
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I now know I loved every one of them. They worked hard, played hard, and lived the outdoor life many men only dream of. God bless them all. I will miss them, and my Fish and Game life forever.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-69010232911132996382015-10-17T14:32:00.000-07:002015-10-17T17:01:54.163-07:00Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-85922187237104369252015-09-03T15:51:00.001-07:002015-09-03T16:00:14.773-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Sierra Gold</h2>
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by Jim and Shirley White</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOy8AZY-a9KvnPqJSMvd09434fEsOwZKwIoFa35QAPAqZNdhGj8DppyZo2Ey-gOUJqUeGEW96fhhhiUqG9OdF6PLS3ErVRdfUMKiOgbb9NaO_vZNpgC8EAvzadUyVXMVGzowCSdb_tKXt/s1600/_6007759.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOy8AZY-a9KvnPqJSMvd09434fEsOwZKwIoFa35QAPAqZNdhGj8DppyZo2Ey-gOUJqUeGEW96fhhhiUqG9OdF6PLS3ErVRdfUMKiOgbb9NaO_vZNpgC8EAvzadUyVXMVGzowCSdb_tKXt/s320/_6007759.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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There IS "gold in them thare hills". Sometimes at the foot of a rainbow or sometimes in the marshes and waterways of Sierra Valley. The forcast of "thunder storms in the Sierra" or "rain north of highway I80, often sends use running for Sierra Valley, in Sierra County, California. </div>
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We are wildlife photographers and do not pass up a good secnic landscape shot either. Cattle and hay ranches make up most of this Alpine beauty. Migratory birds from Alaska to Argentina travel back in forth thru this fertle landscape. My almost every trip joke is " maybe we will run into a herd of Wolverines this time". We have only see 2 for real in our lifetime and it was not in Sierra County. But it could be!! Check out these critters. Antelope in Sierra Valley! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4MgdejL-n-J1nAuqskn4K7kmXhYuCvO5ilo5l9BpQtLnVBby9f3VxTrtic83MuE-zZU0EhyphenhyphenQKvtoTsjtl01pWRjtOcu1pWpfFPKC8ihHOZP7EqzNBVZuLtDx-K08lIXHwBO8PDAvW7yMl/s1600/_7101584.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4MgdejL-n-J1nAuqskn4K7kmXhYuCvO5ilo5l9BpQtLnVBby9f3VxTrtic83MuE-zZU0EhyphenhyphenQKvtoTsjtl01pWRjtOcu1pWpfFPKC8ihHOZP7EqzNBVZuLtDx-K08lIXHwBO8PDAvW7yMl/s320/_7101584.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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What we really like to see is Sandhill Cranes in Sierra Valley. During this dought year much of the marshes in Sierra Valley are gone. But the good size pond and marsh along Marble Hot Springs road had maybe 30 feet of shallow muddy water last Satuday. This is what we saw:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKxNB8Vrzl7cTAJ_gwmLvAoI6p0ZCEWmeU6gsW1CKSIjhSCo3Fy7EaUCA03tZs6YydHAkxy6aEi4AB8HPvvIftjijawzLcdtp1WNVlC3BAqi3Pv569QXFtFNTh5M-tDG_Uv4ADpy2Q1USC/s1600/_7105741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKxNB8Vrzl7cTAJ_gwmLvAoI6p0ZCEWmeU6gsW1CKSIjhSCo3Fy7EaUCA03tZs6YydHAkxy6aEi4AB8HPvvIftjijawzLcdtp1WNVlC3BAqi3Pv569QXFtFNTh5M-tDG_Uv4ADpy2Q1USC/s320/_7105741.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Sandhills, Egrets and White Faced Ibis. Also nearby was a doe deer lying in the heavy grass out of the wind. A Cottentail scooted accros the road and hawks dove on some pesky blackbirds nearby.</div>
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The wind blew sweet, the air a slight chill, and all was well in our "Wild Places" in Sierra Valley. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-20096362008616376402015-08-19T17:35:00.000-07:002015-08-19T17:35:08.130-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Raptors and Other Wildlife</h2>
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on the river of course!!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ0ms9OMpno79k3sQ-k_VdxQNilDy4LJr82z4HRsOrJerqPdKka07mV_PL0UHB3C5qfP2JiBwTVqeq2Ke0blsK0tjhLaqxS4mUZ8FGPfJKHqS-soLJfkHOIrP6pIOlhRAEuqHFEVMU5xKG/s1600/_7105511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ0ms9OMpno79k3sQ-k_VdxQNilDy4LJr82z4HRsOrJerqPdKka07mV_PL0UHB3C5qfP2JiBwTVqeq2Ke0blsK0tjhLaqxS4mUZ8FGPfJKHqS-soLJfkHOIrP6pIOlhRAEuqHFEVMU5xKG/s320/_7105511.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Everyone knows it is dry! Even at 5500 ft.on the east side of the Sierra near Truckee. So how do us wildlife watchers and photographers find wildlife when it is so hot and dry? What we do and did today was find some tumbling water, a small waterfall or an area with some white tumbling water with some perches and shade nearby. This hawk hunts a nearby meadow for rodents early morning and late evening, but during the day almost all birds and some other wildlife go for the water. An old concrete dam nearby with this driftwood log will produce time after time. While at this spot we saw Mergansers, Dippers and Mountain Quail nearby. We sit on our 3 legged stools, drink our coffie and wait. Dont\'t talk much and sit still. They will fly, swim and run right up to you.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHlvyhQvbJJfcneLJeGtvLknu6R4EvqnSZPrBF0-uc2xaLwOugk50Z3TDlEmB7_SNJ46brz5vBYpdHqN1PEwWIULl3MNACXrGKsKrRfnspJR67WP-RAeYHISQ2OBLReJW9jN8EccY2Jjf2/s1600/_7105494.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHlvyhQvbJJfcneLJeGtvLknu6R4EvqnSZPrBF0-uc2xaLwOugk50Z3TDlEmB7_SNJ46brz5vBYpdHqN1PEwWIULl3MNACXrGKsKrRfnspJR67WP-RAeYHISQ2OBLReJW9jN8EccY2Jjf2/s320/_7105494.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-7371559621037705952015-07-18T13:28:00.001-07:002015-07-18T13:49:35.430-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
The Tigers are Loose</h2>
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and all the other Sierra wildflowers</div>
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By Jim and Shirley White<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAX4NJ27i5OcbRZBZriZA68SRwZbdLqTpTrRRkuAgZqbJK6ZRRQQCpfD26uSbUQd9JQWT1b6gnk5HqPaKx7PEpNnvtR1xEh-OevZHXj-pcSz7dUAyqyYoSxK252T3KBfMv0C3RMR9HY9hz/s1600/_6007625.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAX4NJ27i5OcbRZBZriZA68SRwZbdLqTpTrRRkuAgZqbJK6ZRRQQCpfD26uSbUQd9JQWT1b6gnk5HqPaKx7PEpNnvtR1xEh-OevZHXj-pcSz7dUAyqyYoSxK252T3KBfMv0C3RMR9HY9hz/s320/_6007625.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Wandering our seceret Sierra wild places yesterday, enjoying our Sierra wildflower, the flower that really starts the summer are the Tiger Lilies. Yes we love the others too. The Colimbine, the Cow Parsnip, Qween Ann's Lace, the Sierra Primrose and all the others. But it is the "Tiger" that rules the mountains in July. What more need be said. The pictures tell it all.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxHMYiJVNDJaXv6C5aTCt1NtqBlha3xRUsdKKiqIVQu0Z3FD8jpI7LfNS0SLpzKut1HPnZ4LpoPic-NEO8ZYniiwtPWoorZWLN_n-y2pCg321Bbd2jK4ARwRtYy3WLEB6kmnmC3_RtuCXv/s1600/_6007626.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxHMYiJVNDJaXv6C5aTCt1NtqBlha3xRUsdKKiqIVQu0Z3FD8jpI7LfNS0SLpzKut1HPnZ4LpoPic-NEO8ZYniiwtPWoorZWLN_n-y2pCg321Bbd2jK4ARwRtYy3WLEB6kmnmC3_RtuCXv/s320/_6007626.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHa5jvPC7Rf7VBedhmdPbC_CpIE875CHPPxThc3loag4XOYDsU6uw7wqFFnXilMeqewkX-OsrM67sfmcBIRAfvlvR9cE6X5WlZSw4cazbFsac0PdL9F5KpSTs2fN7f9E2YGAPOlUhcP1bx/s1600/_6007627%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHa5jvPC7Rf7VBedhmdPbC_CpIE875CHPPxThc3loag4XOYDsU6uw7wqFFnXilMeqewkX-OsrM67sfmcBIRAfvlvR9cE6X5WlZSw4cazbFsac0PdL9F5KpSTs2fN7f9E2YGAPOlUhcP1bx/s320/_6007627%25232.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-80375500670304173872015-07-05T15:54:00.001-07:002015-07-05T15:54:44.522-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Nature-izing along the Culbertson road</h2>
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The Culbertson road that runs from the Drum forbay to Bear Valley, Nevada Co. is one of our favorite early July roads to Nature-ize and do our wildlife-flower photography. This 4th of July weekend was one of the best ever. It is best the start the trip along the road by 8 AM and plan on finishing by 11 AM because the hill-side the road follows has a north aspect and the light is great in the mornings but poor in the evenings. There are at least three springs along the road and butterflys, hummingbirds, bumble bees and birds just love them. You can also find a "Fawn Lily" or two..<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Alpine lilies and Tiger lilies are there too, but you must travel down some of the side roads to find them. You cross the Bear River into Bear Valley and highway 20 and back to I80. We see why the Emigrants of old were happy when they got this far along the trail. Enjoy!!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-18977604379846563522015-07-05T15:21:00.000-07:002015-07-05T15:22:02.885-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Breakfast with the Dutch Flat Mayors</h2>
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As usual on the 4th of July weekend, we head for the old gold mining town of Dutch Flat in Placer County.and the annual 4th of July breakfast at the Odd Fellows Hall.This year we were fortunate to breakfast with the two Honorary Mayors and their ladies.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqOVk9DpE_Mpt7WwvitU5u5CUcbVjRQ4Og2foFnUeOAOibcUF-G3L1CwUwGuso5uDiyuLJyHBz0jjZl2elQbIS_aGcclhr79z2kLH8fu1kGmr00mpr053PbLHP020Zz9OndHI7W_SATdWG/s1600/Mayor%25232-Dutch+Flat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqOVk9DpE_Mpt7WwvitU5u5CUcbVjRQ4Og2foFnUeOAOibcUF-G3L1CwUwGuso5uDiyuLJyHBz0jjZl2elQbIS_aGcclhr79z2kLH8fu1kGmr00mpr053PbLHP020Zz9OndHI7W_SATdWG/s320/Mayor%25232-Dutch+Flat.jpg" width="251" /></a></div>
I tried to make points early on and mentioned that I was a personal friend of Jim Gould, who died recently and who's Great,Great Grandfather had owned the nearby gold diggings and the Dutch Flat Gold Mining and Ditch Co.That did not seem to ring a bell so I mentioned my old friend Jim Stewart who also owned the nearby Gold Run hydro mine along I-80 and ran it for 50+ years. Blank stares registered nothing so I mentioned that we were photographers with the Bay Area Porno Magazine and were trying to find a cover photo of a good stud for our up-coming August issue and wondered if I could take their pictures. The heavy-set mayor glanced down, I guess to see if his zipper was closed and then said " I guess so". His lady had stopped eating and was looking at me with eyes as big as saucers.I took the pictures and showed them the results. They thought the pictures were great and wondered when the pictures would be published. I said we usually post a copy on the wall of the Gold Run Rest Area's restroom and it should be up by the end of the month. The ladies were now laughing so hard I saw tears roll down their cheeks so we thought it was time to leave. The Mayors asked where we were going and I said we were going to "Nature-ize" and photograph wildlife and flowers along to Drum Forbay-Bear Valley's Culbertson road. I overheard one Mayor ask his lady if I said Forbay or for-play. I think that story is next.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-42123269323187688482015-07-02T16:13:00.000-07:002015-07-02T16:20:43.767-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Osprey Adventures</h2>
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One of the three Osprey chicks stood up, leaned forward and strained, and out like a fire hose from his rear was a jet stream of white liquid. Thank God they are being fed and are all alive. Daddy Osprey was seeing to that. Earlier we saw him fly low over the nest a drop what looked like a Golden Mantel Ground Squirrel. This last feeding was a fish from the nearby lake.It is a full time job for the male to keep well fed his mate and their three chicks.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jJ4y-jWxyjcB_UbjSZVpTK_wCfoj4taMM7ree_NP0KCrG0KLMkpuae2ltiRiWCCnlUxVDuaRRK_o7eCCwf77MpyhD4CsHowBJk7ulTz9t7uD_eJJEuFF-7S6NgXkOgBqPGh7oNM0k5BJ/s1600/Osprey%2526+Chicks%25231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jJ4y-jWxyjcB_UbjSZVpTK_wCfoj4taMM7ree_NP0KCrG0KLMkpuae2ltiRiWCCnlUxVDuaRRK_o7eCCwf77MpyhD4CsHowBJk7ulTz9t7uD_eJJEuFF-7S6NgXkOgBqPGh7oNM0k5BJ/s320/Osprey%2526+Chicks%25231.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
We are at 5600 ft. in Placer County and the temps today at the nest site are 81 degrees. When the female is not feeding the chicks she stands with her back to the sun, wings slightly extended, shading the chicks. The male does not stay long. It appears like lots of his prey are not out in this heat.He has got to go hunt again. It is called hunting for my family and it is really very hard work.<br />
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It is only July 2nd and a long way to go before the chicks are fledged.We need some cooling rain.But right now we would settle for just some big nice clouds. Stay tuned.. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-933423706048501672015-04-28T16:12:00.001-07:002015-04-28T16:17:39.750-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGDkpxnFe-pBVN1Vi6B16xx27OoNUaH9JwiZNGUVNQiB5-sfUmugPu1eaFjqdSppJgO5LP99P3Y4hJuwoYI_XKMqt1LTd0gfZfJCWZr6TvHdt3348z0UGcsL730x2lJg1gWmX_Ig5XKMz6/s1600/SH+Crane+on+nest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGDkpxnFe-pBVN1Vi6B16xx27OoNUaH9JwiZNGUVNQiB5-sfUmugPu1eaFjqdSppJgO5LP99P3Y4hJuwoYI_XKMqt1LTd0gfZfJCWZr6TvHdt3348z0UGcsL730x2lJg1gWmX_Ig5XKMz6/s1600/SH+Crane+on+nest.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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Chasing the Cranes</h2>
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by Jim and Shirley White</div>
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My friend in Truckee, Tom, says the Sand Hill Cranes are back in Sierra Valley. Although it is still snowing lightly on Donner Summit, off we go. The last of the storm is just passing Castle Peak as we scoot over Donner.</div>
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It is the last day of business for our favorite breakfast place, the Sierraville Kitchen.</div>
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A motley crew of loggers, ranchers and other locals are having breakfast for the last time. It is a happy and a sad time for most. We say our goodbys and we are off to find the Cranes!</div>
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What we really want is a nesting Sand Hill Crane. We have never been able to get close enough in the past. The wily cranes always slip away before we can get near enough. But "Sharp Eyed Shirley" spots one right away. It is nesting right along the road!!! We cannot believe our eyes. The crane watches our every move. We shoot and move along. There are (maybe ) other birds to see. </div>
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In all we see 10 cranes, only the bird along the road close enough to shoot. But other life is kind.</div>
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A Lesser Yellowlegs poses and and looks friendly. A Rough-leg hawk soars over and lets us shoot, and all in all, another nice day in the Sierra.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-15750495460066372732015-04-10T12:30:00.000-07:002015-04-10T12:57:10.901-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX8yM3yXvcGg51PX4EjzTglq7_lG7msCbEqhW49XVR8umqjsXoYahbu2zFqh4LtqP8i-5YafhdhYfIuGzk684vQEIcswminK7mS0Bcj-9IwBFbT7SKIuvKJDWiCQD-nMGhbi3zzuCyUD4l/s1600/Ananda+Gardens%231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX8yM3yXvcGg51PX4EjzTglq7_lG7msCbEqhW49XVR8umqjsXoYahbu2zFqh4LtqP8i-5YafhdhYfIuGzk684vQEIcswminK7mS0Bcj-9IwBFbT7SKIuvKJDWiCQD-nMGhbi3zzuCyUD4l/s1600/Ananda+Gardens%231.jpg" height="173" width="320" /></a></div>
Ananda Gardens,in Nevada County. A Shangri- La? Remote, beautiful, not imaginary place where life approaches perfection? Maybe not. But it is a little bit of "heaven" in Northern California. Early yesterday, no one but Shirley and I were there, 10,000 tulips and other flowers, on the north side of a very steep Nevada county mountain-side. What a way to forget your troubles.<br />
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It was just after a little snow-storm and all the flowers were refreshed and pure.The sun was warm. We could see a thousand feet below,the Middle Fork of the Yuba river. A wild river with very large Brown Trout I sampled many years ago. We saw a Golden Eagle soaring high in the canyon to the north. A Stellar Jay called an alarm as a Grey Squirrel jumped from limb to limb on a route he seemed to know. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifXciRgKp_itv-W2a_OAcxwwDrL4_eA8WAhB4OTtcrggrenMBi8hJ-y6beV6R865CZ2R6ovJORVxxiyEkg_ngkD0FxxnZpuD_B-umgkkTTMOueL848HjRbnauT7wiRMoC9zsj4LgQvoAA4/s1600/Ananda+Gardens%232,jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifXciRgKp_itv-W2a_OAcxwwDrL4_eA8WAhB4OTtcrggrenMBi8hJ-y6beV6R865CZ2R6ovJORVxxiyEkg_ngkD0FxxnZpuD_B-umgkkTTMOueL848HjRbnauT7wiRMoC9zsj4LgQvoAA4/s1600/Ananda+Gardens%232,jpg.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
The laughter of a small child above us on the hill, as others arrived to share our joy. Time to trudge back up the steep hill to our car,<br />
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and then lunch at the Village deli. Real lemon juice in a can? What kind of place is this really? Come visit! It is open to the public for a few more days, The residents are warm and friendly. Come share their joy.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-54937048065395423962015-03-30T14:55:00.001-07:002015-03-30T14:55:43.797-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jd1vaY4asT1hA8VzwHC1kFYbr-dg73VoZyuhhlo3srDJOFRdOuHmcSK__RVtDbi9dPuJiLT5qX834fhIAw8xiVXerMdT8rQgcpyVDeR1xK6qRC0E6bXMBaUxRozvz-fT7-G4ofZi6mye/s1600/N.F.American-Pondaroas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jd1vaY4asT1hA8VzwHC1kFYbr-dg73VoZyuhhlo3srDJOFRdOuHmcSK__RVtDbi9dPuJiLT5qX834fhIAw8xiVXerMdT8rQgcpyVDeR1xK6qRC0E6bXMBaUxRozvz-fT7-G4ofZi6mye/s1600/N.F.American-Pondaroas.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
The N..Fk of the American River just above the Ponderosa way bridge in Placer Co. is one of the great sights you will see from this more or less primitive river crossing. This spring we crossed from the Foresthill Divide road to Wiemar and enjoyed the steep decent with sheer drop-offs on the way down to the bridge.<br />
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Approaching the river from the south you will see the first Indian Pinks as you approach the bridge followed by Lupine,Redbuds,and whites and pinks of your choice After crossing the river the world turns yellow as Poppies by the millions cover every square inch of the hillsides.<br />
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The tributary creeks are dry, with fewer butterflies, but the wildflowers are better than ever.<br />
You could even take the 2 mile hike downstream to Codfish Falls, if you think there might just be some falling water when you get there. Well worth spending a couple of hours early or late in the day.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-32027423177998567062015-03-09T16:54:00.000-07:002015-03-09T16:54:13.990-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
The Sierra Without Snow</h2>
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by Jim and Shirley White</h4>
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For more than 20 years during the latter part of March, some of my friends and I would ride the summit ski lift at Alpine Meadows.Ski Resort and ski west into the wilds of the Granite Chief Wilderness area.We would ski down the backside of Alpine,cross Five Lakes Creek, ski up and pass Elephant's Head on our left, cross over Mt. Mildred, and then ski down Chipmunk Ridge to the French Meadow Reservoir where we would be picked up by a friend. It was a three day trip most of the time. One time because of a big storm it took us five days. The snow would be from five to thirty feet deep. Never was the lack of snow a problem. The last time I looked at the calendar it was March, so where is the snow this year? <br />
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We drove into Hell Hole Reservoir yesterday to see for our selves. As we approached Hell Hole we met Jason, the Placer Water Agency winter tech who spends the winter, usually snowed in at Hell Hole. When I asked how the winter had gone, he remarked " what winter?". There was maybe 3-4 inches of snow on the road where we met and Jason said the snow lasted about 200 yards down the road and that was it! No winter, no snow. The road between Hell Hole and Chipmunk Ridge did have maybe 4 in. of snow, but of all things, there were deer tracks heading up hill, climbing to their summer range. You can see Mt. Mildred which is 8398 feet elevation in this picture with only a patch of snow to be seen. <br />
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Here is Lt. Ken Nilsson Calif. Fish and Game checking the refuge boundry on our trip back in the 1970's, with six feet of snow beneath his skis.How the world is changing.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-22924471157264483272015-03-03T11:24:00.003-08:002015-03-03T12:00:58.935-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
SO WE HAD A LITTLE SNOW</h2>
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BY JIM AND SHIRLEY WHITE</h3>
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For a mountain pass like Donner Pass, I don't think we could call this event a snow storm.<br />
Maybe a few snow flurries. Back in the 1950's and "60's few would remember this event as a snow storm. The above picture where we were skiing along the crest from the Benson hut to Mt. Lincoln a storm would produce cornices like you can see in this picture, with the potential of avalanches to follow. That is what we liked about the 1950's. Three to five feet of new snow during the first few days of the storm, with more to come later in the week. There was a feeling of excitement and adventure back country skiing in those "real" snow storms. We had to learn how to find safe routes, camp using natural shelters, learn that storms were the reason the mountains were so great. Once you got into shape each year it was easy and fun. Somehow the Sierra is not so great this year, I guess because of the lack of good snow storms. I took the Donner Lake pictures just after this last event.<br />
I remembered how cold and hard the ice was on Donner Lake when we skied across the lake in late February one year during the '50s.Of course if you look real close there is still some beauty to be seen. But us "old timers" can't feel that excitement or feelings of adventure we felt during the storms of old.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-15042142115275473552015-02-22T16:43:00.000-08:002015-02-22T16:43:35.413-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
A Bump In Our Road</h2>
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by Jim and Shirley White</h4>
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Christmas and New Years are gone. And so are three people important in our lives. It is all part of living I guess. We haven't felt like writing or shooting photos for ourselves. We tried the other day and Shirley was rewarded with this great shot of the Snowy Egret. Maybe the best picture she has ever taken? The picture does make us want to travel down our road some more.Maybe there is more joy ahead?</h4>
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The Sacramento Valley is still loaded with northern birds. We have never seen so many Rough-legged hawks from the far north. This one with a kill near Colusa.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The crazy drivers in the fog drove us out of the valley and into the North Fork of the American River canyon near Colfax.<br />
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The fog was gone by late evening. These Swans were regal, waiting for the night and peace from the days struggle. Some snow on the mountain would be a joy indeed. </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-30698133546290404922014-12-26T17:14:00.000-08:002014-12-26T17:14:10.385-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Longing for the snow?</h2>
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by Jim and Shirley White </h3>
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There was supposed to be snow in Hope Valley and along the West Fork of the Carson. Somebody was dreaming or maybe having a nightmare! There is more snow in our freezer that in that part of Alpine Co. But a big cold storm is coming! Not our idea of a good snow storm. But lots of wind and cold rain drove us down into Carson valley chasing hawks. Not many hawks and the wintering deer herd is not on the winter range this year! So we photographed barns.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3kToMc8PjizmF-I-IFDBIRO8Evvt2HMjH9f21nM1avhpg0ZKsdX1MR2ymOmeBJ80qbqBLQeS0_bnqzu3fnU-XDqslZqEDPkfczvLYPh0Zy8XaMMF5OZySTqtM_BNJdZw5ob-JlbWZwXOf/s1600/Dressler+ranch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3kToMc8PjizmF-I-IFDBIRO8Evvt2HMjH9f21nM1avhpg0ZKsdX1MR2ymOmeBJ80qbqBLQeS0_bnqzu3fnU-XDqslZqEDPkfczvLYPh0Zy8XaMMF5OZySTqtM_BNJdZw5ob-JlbWZwXOf/s1600/Dressler+ranch.jpg" height="244" width="320" /></a></div>
So you can see the cold rain coming off of Freel Peak and when it got to us our barn got really grim.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwlBXsh8PGMvt3muePEeRlznJPPmay3xjX9uyujnsv65OOogaibm0ntfbqYNOIjyZc2Ei_KCWjLaJsE_T9yKAJOF92yFgrzSn2-SxyNMnPEYOMT2cHEysJ5rgpg6E0bsaCfSilLX27hsn8/s1600/Dressler+Barn%234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwlBXsh8PGMvt3muePEeRlznJPPmay3xjX9uyujnsv65OOogaibm0ntfbqYNOIjyZc2Ei_KCWjLaJsE_T9yKAJOF92yFgrzSn2-SxyNMnPEYOMT2cHEysJ5rgpg6E0bsaCfSilLX27hsn8/s1600/Dressler+Barn%234.jpg" height="171" width="320" /></a></div>
The rain turned into ice when it hit me and the camera so lets go back up to 8000ft and see whats happening? Yep, it is snowing and blowing. Chain control did not faze the big truck ahead of us so as he started sliding sideways I passed and let the Subaru's computer take us over the hill. 25 mph going down Carson Pass with blowing and drifting snow put us below the snow in about 1 1/2 hr. Not to let this little chicken storm ruin our chances for some good snow pictures we are back after Christmas to check out the damage. Nice "mare's tails" blowing off of Round Top but no place to park and shoot. Nothing but the roadway has been plowed. Managed some photos of Round Top, but 6 keepers in two days? What's happened to our old time Sierra snow storms? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcEzzB_I0JP7jqrzB0qN3lYf3kyFYxLF7kidR8mqwKK_hd0i9hrnGoIOD8I5v2UCReV4vCmmURJXGzU5RDSQSHcoL6s_jt9fAbuenm0EIVs7DUbWZ5TAcrkI7VhBhdGjExgmCzZEru61fY/s1600/Round+Top+after+storm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcEzzB_I0JP7jqrzB0qN3lYf3kyFYxLF7kidR8mqwKK_hd0i9hrnGoIOD8I5v2UCReV4vCmmURJXGzU5RDSQSHcoL6s_jt9fAbuenm0EIVs7DUbWZ5TAcrkI7VhBhdGjExgmCzZEru61fY/s1600/Round+Top+after+storm.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
On the way home Round Top looks a little better.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQd-d4LmwmoxLcn2LhXvI7pLBvyKEXKhV64X1LdMPOxZVt_SL8csGwshI4Q-hSNCcjpHXkUXD8565hl41S92jMbZXsHA3IXEjEN1Yh7-u-pu13SgNID3Wvv2akp9R6d1wYl3NtZMNiOapI/s1600/Round+Top+after+storm.%233tif.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQd-d4LmwmoxLcn2LhXvI7pLBvyKEXKhV64X1LdMPOxZVt_SL8csGwshI4Q-hSNCcjpHXkUXD8565hl41S92jMbZXsHA3IXEjEN1Yh7-u-pu13SgNID3Wvv2akp9R6d1wYl3NtZMNiOapI/s1600/Round+Top+after+storm.%233tif.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
Merry Christmas! And pray for a little snow for Shirley and I. We still hobble around on snowshoes.</h3>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-13181175362795399572014-12-08T15:43:00.000-08:002014-12-08T21:19:16.053-08:00<h4 style="text-align: center;">
Waterfowl Heaven</h4>
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by Jim and Shirley White</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0lc78kOZjgNw6BQBIPEAs-kU1K6MEuTc43xmmor0BYQ-seX0Eclzlht_YwtKSE487n_6tzvmGH4x6D6zk9qecoH875M42kwSknNO6tx_Zg7MMYulm_cvmr0L8rsOceyJIMIVsPZHcGVO-/s1600/_6005749+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0lc78kOZjgNw6BQBIPEAs-kU1K6MEuTc43xmmor0BYQ-seX0Eclzlht_YwtKSE487n_6tzvmGH4x6D6zk9qecoH875M42kwSknNO6tx_Zg7MMYulm_cvmr0L8rsOceyJIMIVsPZHcGVO-/s1600/_6005749+copy.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
Sullen skies NW of Lincoln this morning. Not a bird to be seen over the flooded rice fields. Off in the distance we saw a white flash in the sky. The white flash was huge and blinked on and off at slightly different places, Snow Geese I guessed? Or were they? And then another white flash, more to the north and closer to the ground. Maybe shore birds? We put the Jeep in high gear and ran down Brewer Rd. to the north. Thousands of Snow Geese to the east down Kempton Rd.! But there was something funny about the flooded plowed field straight ahead. I stopped and glassed the field. Those little brown dots were Dunlins by the thousands! As we watched the field, a milliom more flew in from somewhere and landed at the end of the birds we were watching. Hard to photograph these high speed bullets but we have to try. The birds sit so still I can not believe they are really birds. In a flash they fly and swirl and loop around the field all in absolute synchronization and when their bellies are toward us they flash white. What a sight! How do they keep from hitting each other at such speed?<br />
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Later we go north down Kempton and there are Snow Geese by the tens of thousands! We work on the Swans. Our access to a 600 ac. rice ranch on this road provides the answer. After the shoot it is breakfast at Kathy's in Lincoln. Not a bad way to spend a morning. Can't wait to get back.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-29428431849685095642014-11-30T12:57:00.000-08:002014-11-30T13:03:03.548-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
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Wild in the Park</h2>
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by Jim&Shirley White</div>
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It was 5 AM when I looked out our bedroom window. The cloud deck looked low, it was really grungy. Not raining yet, but the sky promised it would not be long. I really felt like doing our early morning walk. The temp gauge outside said 39f. So I made the coffee and did my morning chores. <br />
And then I got the idea! If it looked that bad to everyone else, maybe no one but Shirley and I would show up at the park this early morning. We have been a little concerned about safety wandering around the early morning in the park with expensive camera gear, a known gang headquartered nearby and the homeless person we meet upon occasion. With this kind of weather will they will stay under cover too? Let's go to the park and photograph wildlife! Shirley thought it was a dumb idea.<br />
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We started walking toward to lake at about 20 minutes before sunrise.What sunrise? The overcast was grim. But how thick were the clouds? We started out using our little fold out canvas stools and set up near the big island. We knew there were 4 river otters in the lake but as dark as they are how to capture the image in this poor light. Shirley let out a gasp and whispered " at your feet"! All I remember is little brown heads, long whiskers and big brown eyes starring right at me. Too close, camera won't focus. They were a wild and rowdy bunch. They played together constantly. They were all over the pond. Our only hope was to get them on the island. We did but most of the shots were throwaways.<br />
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I checked my LCD screen and I could not believe the color. A slight improvement in the light.<br />
First the Golden Eyes swam past us and then the Buffleheads. These diving ducks from the far north are our notice that the northern birds have really made it back!<br />
Only one person approached us, wanting to know where he could find our pictures. Seemed like a nice guy, a banker or perhaps a local Judge? The bad guys just don't get out of bed very early I guess.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-73204307739004747242014-11-01T13:05:00.000-07:002014-11-01T13:05:19.750-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">THE BIRDS ARE BACK</span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">by Jim and Shirley White</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The large brown bird dropped out of the sky like a bombshell, exploding in a sea of Mud Hens (American Coots) like a grenade going off. The Rough-legged hawk nailed one of the Mud Hens on some dead tules about 50 feet from our road, in the Colusa National Wildlife</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Refuge, near Colusa. Ca. A bite to the back of the head of the Mud Hen and the flopping bird was soon dead. Shirley and I stopped on the edge of the road and started firing the Nikon's in high-speed mode. Welcome back to some of the best wildlife photo shooting in the west.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span>A few minutes after, an SUV with a sun-roof pulled up in front of us, out of the roof popped a girl with a red parka on and the hawk flushed carrying part of the Mud Hen in his claws, and our hawk shoot for this day was over.<br />
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We had had a good shooting day. Earlier while chatting with the refuge manager, he had pointed out an area where some Sandhill Cranes had landed in a shallow pond. The Cranes had flown off before we could get there but we were rewarded by a dozen Curlews playing grab-ass and we were able to shoot some action shots of this un-common northern bird.<br />
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Yep....the game is on! Another great season of chasing waterfowl up and down the Sacramento Valley, always looking for the unusual but always interesting waterfowl from the far north.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-16568875044883367122014-10-11T15:30:00.000-07:002014-10-11T15:30:24.153-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">OF COWBOYS,SHEEP DOGS,BIG TROUT & ICE CREAM</span></span></h2>
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BY JIM & SHIRLEY WHITE</h4>
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The soil at the Owens Valley cow camp was powder a foot deep. At every step the dust swirled up and covered our cameras. I drive 400 miles every year to photograph this camp. Each year it is different. This year it was murder. I really wanted to go sit on the couch along-side the cabin and have Shirley take my picture, but the nearby Cowboys vaccinating cows were watching us. I think one of them was packing heat! I don't want any shootout in this heat today.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The nearby Hot Springs creek was the only thing that looked cool today. Not enough snow on the mountains for sure.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We are standing on the handicapped fishing platform at Convict Lake shooting the early morning light on the lake and I am grousing about what a lousy place to build the platform with all the shallow water below when a 24 inch Rainbow Trout weighing at least 10 lbs.cruses by. My casting arm begins to twitch and I know now I know nothing about fish!<br />
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We photograph sheep herders, their dogs and sheep, and dream about the old days of lamb stew and red wine in the Basque sheep camps we have known. We love their dogs, and one white Pyrenees remembers Shirley from some years ago. They were in the Bode Hills right where we always find them. The Herder waves but does not come up to see us this time. He knows we need him in our shot too.<br />
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Monitor Pass was as beautiful as we have ever seen it! I use the glasses to view White Cliff Peak way to the South, just above Connel's Cow camp of old. Our memories of horse adventures in the Fish Valley of the Silverking are as strong as ever. My horse Lady died there, her skull nailed to the wall of the Soda Springs Ranger Station. Rest in peace my lady.<br />
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Shirley let out a slight sigh as the girl scooped a very small scoop of Vanilla ice cream, but then worked it into a huge ball that hardly fit on the sugar cone. The Markleeville ice cream shop closes on Oct. 24th this year. Next trip I guess we will just have to hit the old Cutthroat Saloon for a shot or two, and remember Shrimp Ebright, the old horse packer who always wanted me to stay longer. But my family and kids were waiting, and trailering horses at night over Carson Pass, well only one for that road that was for sure. <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-638793875247758675.post-43964104858501602042014-09-27T16:41:00.000-07:002014-09-27T16:41:13.604-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Crane Addiction</h2>
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by Jim and Shirley White</h3>
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A soft rain was hitting our bedroom window as I drug my body out of bed. It was 5:00 AM and pitch black outside. I nudged my wife Shirley and said "good morning, time to go chase some cranes". "My God Jim, it is not even light outside!" "I know, I said but it will be light by the time we get there" " "Your sick", she said, "you need to get another hobby!". Yep, I know, it is some kind of addiction that makes us chase Sandhill Cranes, the way we do. The report we had was the first Cranes this year had arrived at the Consumnes Wildlife Area, with Desmond road the best spot to see them. We were there at first light, and there were no Cranes. No Cranes, few ducks, nothing but lots of Blackbirds. What to do? Lets try Woodbridge road. Maybe we will see some Otters or something? At the public viewing area on Woodbridge road there was nothing. I parked the car, grabbed the Nikon with the 150-600mm lens, and walked to the bench and sat down. A few cars drove in looked around and left. Nothing. And then I saw something move, 150 yards away, and behind some thistle plants. It was a Sandhill Crane! And then I saw 5 more, and then 10 more off in the distance. To our amazement two cranes walked out of some cover less than 100 yards away. And then to our amazement, one began to throw a stick up high into the air and leap and try and catch it before it hit the ground.</div>
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And then the Cranes began their dance! They leaped up high and were playfully poking with their bills at each other. The light was poor, but who cares? They were playing and doing their dance for us!<br />
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How could these birds know how hard we tried to see them perform? It was like they were performing just for us. The dancing and throwing the stick lasted for maybe 3 or 4 minutes and then they wandered on behind some growth where they could not be photographed. It was over.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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By 10:00 A.M. we were at Wimpy Marina and were ordering steak and eggs and biscuits and gravy. <br />
Getting up this early does work up an appetite.As we waited for our order, Shirley remarked " I really love those Cranes!" When can we go again? <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582890151902457917noreply@blogger.com0