Oh, Portland….

Oh, Portland, Kali and Shiva. Now the Feds are tear-bombing the grannies and the mothers. The soccer moms, FFS. Will this madness never end? Let this be a reminder. Democracy itself is at stake. #fascism #dictator #martial law

Naked Athena vs the Feds

I never thought I’d ever be saying this, but hooray for the soccer moms, and for helicopter moms, and for the naked yoga moms. The great Shiva has been unleashed. We are revolution. We are both noun and verb. We are Lysistrata. We are the original AntiFa. And we are pissed. We have taken a stand against the staggering incompetence of the affairs and machinations of the federal government. We will rise. We will rise. ‘A masked Naked Athena’ has turned the tide. She is Godiva, unhorsed. She is Sheila-na-gig. Nudity as protest, nudity as free speech. She is the malasana in garland pose. She is Gaia giving birth to the new world. She is the primal scream. This is the official dance of these covid times. Portland is keeping it weird for us all. If you’re not pissed off by now, you should be. When George called out for his mama on his dying breath, he called out all the mamas. Yea, verrily, we will rise.  “Feds stay clear. The Moms are here.” Game on.

The West Coast is burning

Oh great, I was sitting outside during a red alert. The West Coast is burning. Ashes from as far north as British Columbia, where there are 560 wildfires, as well as wildfires from WA, Or, and N. CA, were falling on my Mac screen. And now my eyes sting. My throat is raw. All that unshed grief and death of trees playing out in real time.

Wildfires in the Cascades

OK, it's time to jump into the fray, into the thick of it. No deep breathing allowed until we get past Sacramento. Burning, weeping eyes. It smells like we're inside a really big BBQ pit. We can't even see most of the Cascades. Are we in Armageddon yet? The smoke made vast black walls behind the clouds above Crater Lake.

There were hellacious thunderclaps in Klamath Falls the other night, and it railed all the way to Weed, enough to leave puddles in parking lots. Last night's thunderstorm cleared the air somewhat. We were stuck a couple of days in Klamath Falls, getting a windshield fixed. Not much to to there. Some cool old Art Deco buildings downtown, an old car dealership with frescos in the style of King Tut, but this is no Luxor, the town has been eviscerated.

I was shocked to discover that there are no falls in Klamath Falls.The entire Lower Klamath Lake has been drained. You can see the levees. I had no idea that the entirety of the Trinity River Complex, a major contributor to the Klamath River, is almost all diverted, and all within my lifetime—to sell alfalfa hay to the UAE, and China. So much for the Klamath River salmon run. No place for them to go. Meanwhile, the drought continues unabated. Wildfires have become the norm. This is not good. A thirsty earth, angry wildfires. The name of the future is upon us.

My. Shasta hiding behind a veil of smoke.

I did not clean my cover photo up with auto contrast so you could see how thick the smoke really is. It got worse by late afternoon. How thick was the smoke? Can you even see Shasta looming dead ahead in this photo? We're at the Hwy  99 overlook. It's mid-day, around 2 PM.

And this is only the Northern California fires....

Home again, jiggity-jig. Never thought I'd say the air is so much better in the Bay Area than in Northern California....the smoke was MUCH worse as we headed south into Weed, Shasta and especially Dunsmuir and Redding, it was almost like twilight with smoke, though the clock said 3PM. Highway 97 goes right past Shasta, and we could barely see it. Smoke was thick as knives as we neared Davis, from Lake County fire. It was like a brown cloud roof over us, the sun glowed like a strange pumpkin. A portent of things to come.

Added 8/19, from Facebook posts

Mt Hood from the timberline parking lot

Mt. Hood. Less smoke at the higher altitudes. I'm freakin bummed that I can't walk up this path, my knees are so done with me...even with knee braces. Payback. Trail becomes a free-for-all in a few meters. Then you follow the lava flows. and what once was an icefield. Timberline is behind me, and I can't go up the mountain because of my knee injury. What a fucking dilemma. This is out the back side of Timberline Lodge which is a beautiful lodge. But I can only get so excited over a lodge. Neil took off for the afternoon without telling me so I was stuck in the car for hours. Waiting. I was furious. He hitched a ride on a gondola. I could’ve seen the mountain as well, had he bothered to think of me too. At least the air was easier to breathe.

Crater Lake vog (photo)

Where there's smoke...yeah. It smells like we're inside a really big BBQ pit. We can't even see most of the Cascades. My eyes are burning so much I kept calling it vog. The smoke made vast black walls behind the clouds above Crater Lake. Last night's thunderstorm cleared the air somewhat. I did not clean my cover photo up with auto contrast so you could see how thick the smoke really is. It got worse by late afternoon. it got MUCH worse headed south into Weed, Shasta and especially Dunsmuir and Redding, it was almost twilight with smoke, though the clock said 3PM.

Crooked River, Oregon (photo)

Crooked River, Gorge, somewhere in Oregon on the back side of the Cascades. The best Roadside Rest stop—ever. I literally screamed STOP THE CAR as we drove over the bridge. Neil was so startled, he actually did it. That's 300 feet straight DOWN. Gorgeous, literally. My eyes couldn’t stop drinking it in. Long columns of basalt crystals. WOW. Crooked River, Peter Skene Ogden State Scenic Viewpoint along U.S. Route 97 in Oregon.

Welcome to Boring. Paired with Dull (photo)

One guess, where am I? Leaving the Columbia River Gorge after the Enumclaw Games, we stumbled across this sign and burst out laughing.

Multnomah Falls

Michael Horodyski Icy Jewel 7176 

An old high school friend posted a winter photo of Multnomah Falls on the Columbia River Gorge. It was so gorgeous, it took my breath away. Just thinking about how cold it must be in winter, also took my breath away.

And when we hiked up to the top of Multnomah Falls last summer, I was breathless, too, but for another reason, as my knee wasn't fully healed from surgery, so I used an old ski pole as a walking stick. It was bequeathed to me by the ski lift operator on Crystal Ridge—where we spent a stellar afternoon gazing at Mt. Rainer.

Neil kept telling me I shouldn't be hiking up to the top, but I was determined. it was a personal best moment. I'd been flattened for nearly a year and a half with this knee injury.

With the orphan ski pole, I was able to poke and prod my way up to the top of the first falls. It was muggy. Dragonflies practiced arial rolls worthy of the Red Baron. A storm was brewing somewhere. We lingered, refreshed by the waterfall mist, and lulled by the roaring water. No need for words. We counted rainbows until we were drenched and chilled to the bone.

Coming downhill from the falls was excruciating. I resorted to an odd crab walk, pivoting around the ski pole on alternate steps. I tried hopping, I dragged my injured uphill leg and sashayed. At one point I thought about sitting down and just scooting down on my butt to the parking lot. If only I had some cardboard. But a mile of road rash was daunting. I thought I'd never make it back down to the parking lot to my icepack and pain killers.

I hadn't been to the falls since the early 70s, right after high school. But despite the distance of time, memory was served up correctly. I hadn't forgotten how marvelous Multnomah Falls really are—despite the thundering hordes of tourists seeking the ultimate selfie shots, midsummer. Magnificent Multnomah. Gorgeous gorge. Refreshing—a page out of memory, like the picture stenciled on the cans of Oly my grannie used to sip on hot summer days.