Write about your Tales

For anyone who has ever hiked through the Redwood Forest you know the majesty one feels when just walking down one of it's fern laden trails.  Now add the bugling of six bull elk during the rutting season in full swing, in the meadow that unfolds below us.  Hearing the occasional clash of horns between these giants of the herd for dominance of a harem of cow elk of their own.  These are the sights, sounds and majesty that Larrieann, myself and Stryker enjoyed this past weekend during our first real venture out in the new travel trailer. 

Both Stryker and I watched the battles from a safe distance behind a guardrail.  We made Larrieann venture out for the Marlin Perkins pictures.

We headed south to the Northern California coast towards the Avenue of the Giants.  We only made it as far south as the little town of Orick, CA nestled along Highway 101.  While getting Larrieann her morning coffee fix at one of the local coffee houses we learned what Orick meant in the Yurok Indian language from our friendly hostess.  Orick means "the sound of the tree frog".  Now say it to yourself "Orick", yep it sounds exactly like the sound that a tree frog does make, amazing but more importantly for me, interesting. 

Part of the reason I take the time to write some of my crazy stories is because nobody sits around a warm campfire and passes stories down from generation to generation anymore.  As a society we have become too fast paced and much of our rich history is lost when our older generations move on into the next world.  How I wish I had been clever enough to write down some of Grandma Mary's stories while she was still telling them.

Near the mouth of the Klamath River, home to the Klamath Indian tribe we watched as an elder cooked fresh, caught that same morning, salmon steaks on thin Redwood skewers pushed into the sand next to a bed of coals fueled by dry Madrone and Alder wood.  I noticed the older gentleman was wearing a shirt with a fire department logo on it and made mention I too was a firefighter.  Within a few minutes he handed both Larrieann and I some of his freshly roasted salmon hot from the coals saying "brother, try some of my fish".  It was simply put, delicious. Someday soon we are going to try his technique next to a Beaver Hollow campfire.  While I have never been a fisherman I may have to take up the sport just so I can help make sure this Indian tradition carries forward.

Stryker and I will both be ready for our next adventure in a few weeks but first we are needing to rest up a bit along a sandy ocean beach of course.