All through the Central Valley, and Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks, the air was hazy with ozone, dust, soot, organic pollutants, and cow shit. I'm talking hundreds of miles in every direction, even in the farm country.
Being in the filthy air made this the worst couple days of my trip. Walking through and breathing smog even up here in the Sierra Nevadas literally brought me to tears, like the Indian in that 70s pollution commercial.
I always thought California pushed harder clean air standards because they're more crunchy. No. They have a miasma that needs healing now.
Technically, General Grant, the giant sequoia, is in Kings Canyon National Park. But I chose this picture to represent Sequoia National Park because the cars give you a good sense of scale.
The California drought is terrible to behold. What grass remains is yellowed, and even the oaks in some places wither brown. But life holds on in crevices where water seeps: trees, herbs, mammals, birds ... And even, here and there, a bit of color.
Looking east from Olmsted Point is the tiny blue splash of Tenaya Lake among glacier-carved domes of white granite. This view, more than any other, captured for me the primeval grandeur of Yosemite. Yes, even more than looking up the Yosemite Valley at Half Dome and El Capitan.
I couldn't resist leaving a milkweed seed ball near this boiling, sulfuric mud pit at Lassen Volcanic National Park. Being planted near the fire and brimstone honors that part of Liz which played Lotto, drank alcoholic milkshakes, was ready with a sarcastic comeback, and lusted after Patrick Stewart.
As a Texan, I was surprised and delighted to see our First Lady honored. She was instrumental in creating Redwood National Park and many other conservation projects.
In Texas, she led saving our state flower, the bluebonnet, from extinction and helped jumpstart planting highway medians with wildflowers. Texas highways in spring are an incredible sight, thanks to her. Since her passing, Austin renamed Town Lake to Lady Bird Lake.
In back is a septic truck, which was doing the needful and disgusting job of pumping out the vault toilets. I can't say the aroma added to the beauty of Lady Bird Johnson Grove.
Crater Lake is so called because that's what it is, the snow-melt-filled crater (caldera) of a gigantic volcano. The island is a volcanic cinder cone. The hilly shore 6 miles beyond is the east crater ridge. It also is the USA's deepest lake at 2,148 ft. (655 m).
The distant log on Olympic National Park's Kalaloch Beach is as thick at the base as a tall man, about 6 ft. (2 m). Yet it's hardly even a giant among the Sitka spruces of Washington.
I didn't get to see much of Narao Peak at the Continental Divide or the rest of Yoho National Park, thanks to early autumn rains. It was pretty but not photogenic.
“I want to see mountains again, Gandalf, mountains, and then find somewhere where I can rest. In peace and quiet, without a lot of relatives prying around, and a string of confounded visitors hanging on the bell. I might find somewhere where I can finish my book. I have thought of a nice ending for it: and he lived happily ever after to the end of his days.” – Bilbo Baggins in "The Fellowship of the Ring" by JRR Tolkien
Why is the Kootenay River so blue? I don't have a definitive answer, but it seems to be three factors, typical of rivers in the high Canadian Rockies.
There is little sediment or chemical leaching from the hard Precambrian rocks that comprise the Canadian Rockies
The water hasn't filtered through much forest on its way off the peaks, therefore gaining little sediment or dissolved tannins
Colloidal calcium carbonate (CaCO3) in the water has optical properties that enhance the tendency of deeper water to reflect a blue / cyan / turquoise color.
The Grand Tetons were so gorgeous that I camped across from them for a week in Bridger-Teton National Forest. I only left because I ran out of food and water. How could you get bored of a view like that! Coco and Tiarra never get bored of chasing the ground squirrels, either. This is the last post I'll be making until fall. I'm exhausted from touring National Parks, so I'm taking the summer off. I'll be hitting the road again after Labor Day.
Young Teddy Roosevelt became manly hunting bison in the Dakota Territory. Now at Theodore Roosevelt National Park, bison roam unmolested through campgrounds.
When I briefly visited Voyageurs National Park in mid-May, it was raining and barely above 50° F (10° C). The cold and darkness drove me west to sunnier climes. I did my duty, leaving a milkweed seed ball at this site. But that's what it felt like: a duty. I did not tarry, I did not enjoy. I've been on the road too long, covering almost 24,000 miles (39,000 kilometers) since last September. It's come time to rest for a while. I'll push on to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, Glacier National Park, Yellowstone National Park, and Grand Tetons National Park. From there, I'll work my way slowly south to Arizona, then back to Texas. I'll finish the Milkweed journey in the fall by going up the West Coast.
On this cold, cloudy day, I took a bumpy ride on the Isle Royale Queen IV to the island. Boat or plane are the only way to get there. I spent but a short time at this beautiful, wild place, where wolves and moose rule. But I found several nice places to leave milkweed seed balls. I'd like to return again, to camp for a week or two.
