Our Eastern Oregon Adventure: On the Road Again

We’re off on another camping trip—this time to Strawberry Reservoir on  the Winema Freemont National Forest near Bly, Oregon. For the past two years, we’ve made this journey with our dear friends, Jim and Pat Arneson. Jim has been conducting a breeding bird survey in the area for years and managed to rope Janice into helping him. They’d rise at 4 a.m., head out into the crisp dawn, and survey until noon.

Pat and I—faithful, if somewhat begrudging, support crew—agreed to hold down the fort in our respective campers, just in case a flock of rare or exotic birds decided to grace the campsite while Jim and Janice were off counting feathers. I, for one, often spotted a bald-headed, sleepy-eyed bird at dawn (ahem, in the mirror). And, on more than one occasion, the infamous flipping bird made an appearance—especially if the dogs and I got too noisy in the early hours.

Sadly, Jim and Pat couldn’t join us this year, but we decided to go anyway. We had hoped to leave earlier, but there was still some work to finish up with Umpqua Watersheds, and of course, the garden needed watering before we left.

A stop at the Grocery Outlet turned into an unexpected highlight of the day. We saved an astonishing $140—enough for me to take a victory lap around the store, high-fiving fellow shoppers and staff alike. Though, if I’m honest, I’m starting to suspect this whole “you saved!” gimmick is a bit of a racket. The so-called savings seem to be compared to prices at Steve’s Super Store for Smucks, where everything’s marked up because Steve’s secretly running a squirrel bordello in the back of the store and renting out “peak rooms” for folks with unusual obsessions.

Anyway (and yes, I’ve noticed I say “anyway” a lot more in my golden years—must be a perk of aging), after unloading most of the Grocery Outlet haul into the motorhome (did I mention we saved $140?), we mounted the e-bikes, which took some extra effort because we had to remove the bike rack from the Honda CRV.

By the time we were ready to hit the road, it was after 4 p.m. We headed east on North Bank Road, then picked up Highway 138 to cross the Cascades, before turning south onto Highway 97. We made it as far as Spring Creek, where we decided to spend the night.

Spring Creek is a magical place—its waters so pure they nurture Mare’s Eggs, those curious, gelatinous blue-green algae that resemble rocks but are, in fact, living relics of Earth’s ancient waters. This sacred place is deeply important to the Klamath people, and we always try to be mindful of its significance and history.

Sadly, the forest here has changed since we last visited. A bad fire in 2020 scarred the landscape, and much of the area has been heavily thinned since then.

After settling in, we fed the dogs and Comet, had a quiet dinner, and played a couple of rounds of Spite and Malice (our favorite card game). The night was peaceful, the only sounds being the soft breath of our family tucked in for the night—Comet nestled on her pillow between Janice and me, and the boys sleeping up front.

This trip is more than just a getaway—it’s a chance to recharge our batteries after the many months of work, challenges, and victories with Umpqua Watersheds and KQUA. The projects we’re dedicated to—whether it’s protecting the rivers and forests we love, supporting education and community, or sharing stories and songs over the airwaves—require passion, energy, and heart.

But even the most steadfast hearts need time to rest, reflect, and restore. That’s what these journeys give us: a chance to step away from the daily hustle, breathe in the clean air, listen to the birdsong (whether Jim’s counting them or not), and reconnect with the simple joys of life—quiet mornings, good meals, the company of beloved animals, and the wide, star-filled skies of Oregon.

Here at the edge of the forest and the water, we can feel our spirits realigning with the rhythms of nature, reminding us why we do the work we do. The gratitude we feel in these moments fuels us for the road ahead—just as the Mare’s Eggs thrive only in the purest of waters, we find strength and inspiration when we immerse ourselves in the wild beauty of these places.

As we head into the week at Strawberry Reservoir, we carry that gratitude with us, knowing that the work will be waiting when we return—but for now, we rest, we play, we wonder, and we give thanks for the gift of this life.

Day 48 April 20: Easter.

From Farmlands to Snow-Covered Mountains
We’ve traveled across many landscapes over these past 47 days—rolling farmland, stark deserts, rugged coastlines, and now snow-dusted mountains. It doesn’t feel like it's been that long, yet at the same time, it feels like we've been away forever. It’s been a long journey, and we’re ready to return home to whatever awaits us—both the personal and the professional challenges. I say "professional," but we’re volunteers. Still, our involvement often feels full-time.
We left Lucero Farm in Galt, California, without any rush. The pace was slow and easy, and that felt just right. We’ve been gone 48 days; one or two more won't make a difference. There’s something comforting about that—about not having to hurry.
We planned to meet up with our friend Steve Laymon in Red Bluff for a meal and some good conversation. Steve is the one who first connected me to spotted owls, all the way back in 1983. He hasn’t changed much. His hair is whiter—mine too—but he still wears the same black-rimmed glasses and has that familiar, comforting smile. His Ph.D. research focused on the California Spotted Owl, back when so little was known. We were pioneering work that I had no idea would shape the course of my life.
The plight of wildlife first came into national focus in the 1960s, especially with Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring, which raised the alarm about pesticides and their devastating effects on birds. We were losing the Peregrine Falcon, the iconic Bald Eagle, the Osprey—apex predators that were slipping away silently. In 1973, a Republican president, Richard Nixon, signed the Endangered Species Act into law. It was a bipartisan effort, a national reckoning that our natural heritage was being destroyed in the name of short-term profit.
Somewhere along the way, "regulation" became a bad word. But the ESA was—and still is—essential. No, it’s not perfect. But it gave wildlife a fighting chance. It forced society to consider the voiceless—the wild things that make our ecosystems whole. Now, the current administration is proposing to gut the ESA, stripping away critical habitat protections. Under this change, a violation would only occur if there was direct killing. But for species that migrate, are elusive, or require large territories, this redefinition is a death sentence.
There’s a 30-day public comment period, already underway. It ends May 19, 2025. If you care, even just a little, please take five minutes and submit a comment. You can even use my words. Here’s the link. Do it for me, for the owls, for the future.
Long drives give you time to think. About big things. About regulation—why we have it, and why it matters. Sure, some rules inconvenience us. But most were born out of real problems. Without traffic laws, people would drive recklessly. Without consumer protections, companies would take advantage of the vulnerable. Today alone, we drove on a federally funded highway, checked the weather, watched a plane overhead, drank clean water, and breathed clean air. All of that is possible because of government programs and regulations.
The Endangered Species Act shouldn't be weakened—it should be fortified. There’s so little old-growth habitat left for spotted owls. You can't put a tree back on a 300-year-old stump. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. And I fear we’re witnessing the end of what little remains.

To break up the weight of those thoughts, I read a few chapters from The Housemaid is Watching as the miles rolled by. Before we knew it, we arrived in Red Bluff and there was Steve, just as we remembered. We caught up on his family, his travels, and he promised to visit us in Roseburg in the near future.

Our journey continued northward. As all RV travelers know, there are some less glamorous tasks to attend to before you can hit the road again.
By late afternoon, we were in Redding, visiting Craig Tappen and his partner, Wendy. Craig used to live across the street from me when I was a kid. Even though it was Easter, they carved out time for a couple of drinks and a talk about the state of the world. 

Wendy shared her project, The Kindness Revolution, which focuses on random acts of kindness in the community—a glimmer of light in heavy times.

As dusk approached, we decided to make a little more progress toward home. We made it as far as Mt. Shasta, where we found a quiet forest road near the Nordic Center. Snow still blanketed the ground, so it promised to be a cold night. But the view of Mt. Shasta made it all worth it. We wrapped up the day with a few games of Spite and Malice, warm in our little home on wheels.

Day 46 April 18: Windy Good Friday

The wind howled all night at Campo Beluga. Families camping nearby had arranged their vehicles like windbreaks, but even inside our motorhome, it felt like the gusts might knock us over. I can only imagine what the night was like for those sleeping in tents.

In the morning, we readied for departure. Kasey said goodbye to Raphaël Diaz, who seemed a bit under the weather. Our plan was to reach San Felipe by lunchtime. Being the Friday before Easter, the roads were bustling—plenty of traffic heading south, a clear sign that holiday celebrations were underway.

As we drove north, I passed the time reading from the geology book Ken Carloni gave us a few weeks ago. It's fascinating to learn the geological history of this region.

 The new highway was built in 2017, and in several spots, you can still see the rugged old road beside it—clearly a route that once required four-wheel drive.

The views along this stretch are stunning. The Gulf of California stretched out beside us, glittering in the sun. Comet enjoyed it.

The winds are frequently strong in this area that the sand is pushed up on the sides of the mountains.

San Felipe was alive with activity. We managed to find a parking spot just at the edge of town and returned to the same restaurant we visited last year. This time, it was bustling. The food was every bit as good as we remembered. The waitress had trouble understanding Kasey's Spanish accent, so she fetched a waiter to help out. My chile relleno was the best I've ever had.

Carnaval rides were already set up, and people were pulling wagons loaded with beach chairs and umbrellas toward the shoreline. A festive weekend was clearly in store.

The ride north had more interesting geology and phenomenon including mirages created by the hot sun.

Kasey was hoping to cross the border today, so after a quick stop at Walmart—where we picked up some Baja Brewing beer for the next Umpqua Valley Brewers Guild meeting (assuming it survives the trip to Roseburg!)—we headed north. There seemed to be quite a few parked truck cargo containers. I don't know if that is usual or if transport of goods has slowed due to new polices.

I'll admit, I was nervous about the border crossing. It can be an unpleasant process. I turned off my phone and braced myself.

Northbound traffic was light, though southbound was busy.

 We had a brief stop on the Mexican side for an inspection, and another quick look-over on the U.S. side. To our relief, we sailed through.

Well, sailing would’ve been more accurate if the wind had been at our backs. Instead, we battled headwinds and crosswinds. Dust blew across the road, obscuring visibility and making the drive nerve-wracking. Kasey kept a firm grip on the wheel through the white-knuckle stretch.

 The sky ahead was dark and brooding—we were skirting the edge of a storm front.

Eventually, we pulled into Flowstone Climbing in Redlands, a Harvest Host site. The wind had died down by then, and even at 8 p.m., young climbers were still scaling the walls inside. We parked next to the building and could see them practicing through the windows.

Funny coincidence—when I was working and taking GIS classes, many of the exercises used data from Redlands, California, often centered on where ESRI (Environmental Systems Research Institute) is headquartered. Tonight, we’re camped right next to their office. I always imagined it as a bigger, flashier building, but it’s pretty unassuming. Anyone familiar with GIS knows ESRI—it’s a quiet giant in the mapping world. 

I sent a few texts to friends in Roseburg to let them know where we were and gave Mike a call before it got too late. After a simple dinner and feeding the pets, we turned in for the night. We’re planning an early start tomorrow. We’re eager to get home and brace for the challenges ahead—especially the increasing dismantling of environmental protections. There’s work to be done.