GET A PICTURE OF THAT!

Photographers at Yosemite Falls

Too often when my companion is driving and I am peacefully looking out the passenger window he will suddenly shout, “Carol! Get a picture of that!” Of what? I look around wildly while searching for the camera or cell phone. By the time I figure out what he is looking at and aim a camera at it, it’s too late for even a grab shot. I’m chagrined, he’s annoyed. Sometimes he simply snatches the camera from me and takes a photo himself, while driving at 55 mph or so. This is not a good solution.

Taking photos on the run just isn’t that important to me. I do enjoy carefully composing a shot occasionally. Most of the time, though, I prefer enjoying the experience, or taking time to sketch a plant or animal.

Last summer we organized much of August around seeing the total solar eclipse on Aug. 21. It was a wonderful experience, and I managed to get a fairly good photo of it. However, just as it reached totality, others around me gasped. At the time I was trying to compose my photo. I suspect that I missed the full “diamond ring” effect, and wish I had simply watched in awe as the eclipse proceeded.

Can my attitude be taken too far? I have a good friend who is a world traveler. She comes back with tales of taking safaris and climbing  mountains, but without any pictures except some scenic post cards. She wants to concentrate on looking and experiencing rather than on taking photos. I wonder if she ever tries to recall some past trip and wishes she had used a camera rather than on relying on her memory. Like most people of our age, she must have memory lapses! Also, I would really like to see some photos she has taken herself rather than purchased.

Most tourists seem to rely heavily on photos. Busloads of camera-toting Asian tourists are a cliché, and every scenic overlook or art museum is clogged with people taking selfies and scarcely seeing anything but themselves.

There must be a happy medium. From now on I will try to make sure a camera is within easy reach, so I can at least make an effort to take quick photos. However, I will also insist on enjoying the views, not waste a lot of time on photographing them.

Copyright 2018 by Carol Leth Stone

 

 

TRAVELING WITH DOGS AND CATS

When I began traveling about the country in an RV, I was surprised to see how many RV owners had pets, especially dogs, with them. On second thought, it made sense. If you are traveling for more than a week or so, boarding a beloved animal companion seems heartless, and most campgrounds are pet-friendly. Why not take Fido or Fluffy along? Besides the other advantages, having a dog along can easily lead to meeting other RV owners. A friendly dog is almost as useful as a cute toddler in that respect.

Certain breeds are better than others for RV travel. A terrier or Chihuahua doesn’t need the space that a larger dog does, eats less, poops less. Gentle, friendly breeds are also indicated—hopefully, you’re not using the dog as a watchdog!

Some traits can make a pet less suitable for the RV life. I have seen cat owners spend hours vacuuming cat hair out of the upholstery. Cats need to have a litter box, too; and they can escape from a vehicle in an instant.

Campgrounds often are crowded, and so having a dog that barks often or is aggressive is out. (Here I must add  that I would never own a pit bull or other notoriously aggressive breed, whether at home or on the road. I had a terrible experience with pit bulls years ago, so I’m more frightened of them than most people are, but it’s not just me. The web site www.dogsbite.org gives many stats on the subject.) Some campgrounds even refuse to allow certain breeds.

Lest I sound like a dog-hating grouch, let me say that I do like dogs in general. In fact, for 32 years I helped raise a series of wonderful Scottish terriers. Though in principle I think it’s preferable to adopt a mutt from a shelter, in practice my late husband and I bought pedigreed puppies because we knew exactly what to expect. We never had an RV, but Scotties would have been ideal for the RV life I have today. They are small enough to adapt to the limited space, but big enough not to disappear easily into a moving slide. Loyal and protective, they always made me feel safe when alone at home or walking them at night. They are cute! (Older people who remembered FDR’s Fala were especially attracted to our dogs.) All these traits would make them ideal for RV campgrounds.

Much as I loved our dogs, today I prefer not to have one. Thirty-two years of feeding, walking, and cleaning up after them was enough! Also, many of the places we go in the RV—museums, many hiking trails, visitors’ centers—don’t allow dogs for good reasons. We would have to miss out on those places altogether or take turns with dog sitting. Leaving a dog unattended for more than a short time is usually a bad idea, and in hot weather it is simply impossible.

If I were a solo RV traveler, I’d take a dog with me in spite of these disadvantages. (Perhaps I’ve read too many of Sue Henry's mysteries about Maxie McNabb and her miniature dachshund, Stretch, who travel in a Minnie Winnie. Invariably in those books, some evildoer tries to break into their RV.) In addition to making me feel safer, a dog would be a fine substitute for a human traveling companion. Scotties can be stubborn, but I’d win any arguments!

WEATHERING THE RV LIFE

One of the few times when we found RV life daunting was a few years ago in Alberta. We had visited the stunning Dinosaur Provincial Park, had become absorbed, had stayed too long, and had as usual trusted to fate and our parking fairy to provide a campground for the night. That was a busy time and place, so no campground spaces were to be found. However, a helpful park employee told us about a nearby creekside area having tent sites. We drove there and settled down for the evening, feeling lucky to have a place to stay.

The rain began soon. It came down gently at first, then harder and harder as darkness fell. Lightning sparked across the sky, and thunder crashed. Worst of all was the wind, almost threatening to capsize the RV. We tried to see the creek through the blackness, not sure whether it was overflowing. Some tenters had tied a large rubber raft to a tree. There was just enough light for us to see the raft repeatedly flung up into the air, then heaved down onto the ground.

I can’t remember if we slept at all that night. The next morning, the rain had died down, leaving a flooded landscape, and we ventured out to the toilets. Several younger campers were there, having spent the night under the only available roof. They had made a party of the occasion.

If we had gone to a motel for the night, we would have had a good night’s sleep.  Weather scarcely affects motel visitors, who can insulate themselves from the outside world, watch TV, use Wi-Fi, and so on. Just as they probably do at home. But, we are closer to the real world in an RV. The occasional night of terror seems like a reasonable price to pay for experiencing an ecosystem first-hand.

As RVers, we can also escape threatening weather quickly. If a hurricane or blizzard is forecast, we can drive to s more hospitable area. Climate change may make the RV life even more appealing in the coming years, when some campgrounds that are pleasantly warm now become like Death Valley.

Life in a Motor Home

I always planned to have a stable, permanent home, probably in the Midwestern area of my birth. Instead, my life has turned out somewhat like that of young people in our current economy—I have shuttled around the country as my work and personal life have dictated. From various parts of the Chicago area to New York (and quickly back again), on to the San Francisco Bay area, and now to the Sierra foothills. My husband and I did have a comfortable old home in Alameda, where we lived happily for nearly 20 years, but after his death staying there was too expensive for me. When I met my companion a few years later and moved to the foothills, it was time to downsize considerably. I did so with a vengeance, using some of the profits from the house sale to buy a motor home.

I had no experience with RVs, but fortunately my companion knew a great deal about them. For about six months he took me to motor home salesrooms and expositions, teaching me far more than I wanted to know on the subject. We looked at everything from the smallest teardrop campers to ridiculously huge and expensive Class A motor homes. Soon it became clear that the ideal RV for me would be a Winnebago View, model H. The View is a 24’ Class C, large enough inside for all the essentials I wanted, but small enough to drive nearly everywhere. Its width—about a foot narrower than most motor homes—especially appealed to me. On a narrow road, that could make the difference between disaster and success.

To be sure that the View was the right choice, we rented a similar rig for a week end trip to a state park. Having an errand to run at Stanford, I drove through the campus streets before setting off for the campground. That seemed like a good enough test, as I didn’t run into anything. Driving to the state park along narrow winding roads proved to be more difficult, and I knocked off a rearview mirror on a tree branch that jumped out at me. In spite of that, I knew it was time to buy an RV.

We went to La Mesa RV in Davis, which  we had visited many times. The salesmen had probably grown tired of us, but were happy to sell us a new View with just the right options—a simple brown and beige color scheme, an absence of leatherette, and washed maple cabinets. (For some reason, in recent years most RVs have had cabinets in dark colors. Though these look fine in a brightly lighted RV lot, the interiors must be really depressing and coffin-like when the rig is in a rainy forest!) The View model H had a cab-over bed, which is reached via a ladder; we would have preferred a walk-around bed like that in larger rigs, but space prevented it. (A second model had a bed in the rear that was cut off at one corner, and a very small bathroom; the third available model had single bunk beds. Neither of these was right for our needs. The recent Model M has a couch that unfolds into a real, inflatable bed and has other improvements.)

By the time the rig was delivered, it was November—too late for a long summer vacation, but we would take some short trips anyway. We drove my small car to La Mesa, inspected and paid for the View, and drove off in it happily. A few miles down the road, we realized the car was back at La Mesa.

The first outing, in January, was a quick trip to Yosemite National Park. Only a few campground sites were open, and they were snowy, but the lack of people competing for space in what is a much-too-busy park in the summer made it a wonderful experience. We drove to the foot of Yosemite Falls one morning, had brunch at our dinette table as we gazed at the falling water, listened to ice breaking up at the top of the falls, and hiked a short way along the ice-filled Merced River. We saw only one other couple there.

Since then we have traveled across the country and up into Canada. (For some details of our longest adventure, you can purchase our CD, A Hundred and One Nights in a Cab-Over Bed, for $15. Simply write to us at StoneCottage2@Juno.com.) The View has been like a second home—one with a new scene outside the windows every day or two. One caveat: I would not be able to travel in it alone, as many women do, because unscrewing the valves to dump the black water and gray water tanks takes more hand strength than I have. Otherwise, I find it easy to drive and care for. It's a wonderful life!