A sweet adventure

With a rare Sunday sans football, John and I decided to make it special. We woke up early, went out to breakfast (Pancake Mill!), and drove past Florence to this great little web of hiking trails. We discovered them with the South Coast Striders many months ago, and I wanted to go back, just us, for more exploring.

We stopped off a Beaver Creek Falls first (and for some reason, my photos loaded out of order a bit, so there's another photo of Beaver Creek Falls later).

If you climb out onto this huge tree that fell across the creek, you get a great vantage point. The view was worth the bushwhacking we had to do to get here — the trail was a bit overgrown.

Then we drove down to the Homestead trailhead of Sweet Creek Falls, which takes you through this gorgeous canyon for about a mile, ending at Sweet Creek Falls itself. The last time we were there, the water flow was much higher, as it was late spring. Right now, the creek had to deal with a very dry summer, and will soon be up and at 'em. 

Low water flow, we discovered allowed us to sneak down by the creek and wander around much more.

More mini waterfalls along the way.

This stop off was my favorite little side excursion. There were three waterfall tiers (which I couldn't quite get into one photo, as the lower one was quite a bit lower), and how beautiful is this? We were right on the water after a little climbing off the trail.

Here's the random photo of Beaver Creek Falls that got stuck in the middle. Ha.

And back to the off-trail excursion. We found this crawdad wandering about aimlessly. We watched him for about five minutes as he decided where he should re-enter the water — it's a treacherous area for such a little guy, and he eventually (and cautiously) tumbled into a pool.

Here's the lower portion of Sweet Creek Falls. There's a small trail that leads you to the upper viewpoint and upper tier of the falls, but it's running awfully low this time of year, so no photo of that. But this little area was quite pretty. We sat on some rocks in a quiet pool of water right below the falls; this area hadn't been touched by the hot sun, so it cooled us off from the 70-plus-degree day.

And here are a few more photos on the hike back, when the light was better to capture all the beautiful falls along the way. A few of these looks quite impressive with higher water flow, but look delicate at summer's end.

Snowshoeing in paradise

On Monday morning, we went snowshoeing with Wanderlust Tours at the base of Mount Bachelor. We figured since we didn't know how to snowshoe (or even how to put them on correctly), going with professionals would be best.

Plus, they take you off trail and into the woods — which is hard work since the snow isn't packed down, but super nice because it's free of snowmobiles, cross country skiers and other snowshoers. Perfect silence (save for our click-clacking snowshoes).

Our guide, Chase, is on the left, talking with one of the guys in our group. I think he was teaching us that we could eat certain lichens if you get lost in the woods. They actually didn't taste bad, they just felt like eating hair!

Here's Chase being annoyed by the kid. But I think he was showing us what a Ponderosa pine looked like.

We got near the end of our excursion and it opened up to this view of the Three Sisters mountains. It actually took our breath away, it was that beautiful (but we also didn't have much air up there at 6,400 feet, so perhaps that was part of it).

Looking back on our now-packed trail:

The shadows of the trees shaded us a bit, but here's a heavily doctored photo of me and John, taken graciously by Chase. Yep, we were sweaty and hot in that getup, even after we lost the winter coats and gloves.

There's a company that runs dogsled tours at Mount Bachelor, too. We could hear them barking, ready to go for a run, right before we started. It's expensive, I think, but how cool would that be? The other family in our group did it a couple days before and said it was incredible.

Just a cool photo. Chase was teaching us that the Three Sisters are actually called Faith, Hope and Charity (but what a mouthful that is!), and that Mount Bachelor used to be called Brother Jonathan in reference to their names. Then it was changed to Bachelor Butte (butte is a popular name out here around these volcanic areas, and is probably more accurate), but Chase said nobody wants to ski and snowboard on a butte. So they changed the name to Mount Bachelor, mostly for commercial purposes!

There's a pair of restaurants in town, English-type pubs, that go by the name Brother Jon's in reference to Mount Bachelor's old name. Anyway, there's your history lesson for the day.

After the trip, we ate some Vietnamese food and passed out for about 40 minutes, we were that worn out by snowshoeing. We took the hottest showers ever to soothe our sore muscles (snowshoeing does wonders for your thighs) before we ate at 10 Barrel Brewing Company for dinner. I think it's my new favorite place — their burger and mac and cheese were incredible, plus they had an awesome vanilla porter on nitro tap that hit the spot right before dessert, which was lemon custard for John and peanut butter mousse (but it was really more of a cheesecake consistency) for me.

Just another day in paradise.

An atypical Oregon Coast December

On the day after Christmas, we're finally receiving some winter weather. It rained on and off all Christmas Day, and that was the first significant rain we've had since before summer. And it wasn't even that significant.

It's been an atypically cold and clear December, but you won't find me complaining. I love crisp winter weather, bright blue skies and chilly temperatures.

Here's an above shot of Cape Arago a couple weeks ago, with a cute doggie in the way.

No idea what I'm looking at here, I just thought it was a pretty birdie. Saw him (or her, I suppose) on the trail down to Cape Arago's south cove for tidepooling last week.

Ah, the beach all to myself. Nothing better.

Winter's low tides are extra low, and high tides are extra high. That makes for great tidepooling AND wave watching (photos you'll see soon enough).

I'll miss the gorgeous weather we've had (and we've all but kissed it goodbye), but I'll welcome a little rain. The rivers need it, after all, for the fishies.

My first fish

I went ocean fishing for a story, thanks to Betty Kay Charters out of Charleston. First of all, they are just the NICEST people. Seriously. And so helpful, even for beginners.

So you have to get up super early — I had to be there before 6 a.m. Ugh. I was tired and a bit nervous I wouldn't catch anything. That was silly thinking.

Once we got to our first fishing spot (they have fish finders in the boats so they know exactly where the rockfish are hiding), we were taught how to let out the line until it hits the bottom. As soon as Captain Kathi was done showing me, my line had a bite. My first cast.

I reeled and reeled and reeled and reeled, and when I was too tired to fight this fish, I reeled some more. I was breathing hard as if I'd been running, and my arms were burning. When I finally pulled the fish above the water line, Bam Bam (the deck hand, he was great) netted it and flopped it on the deck.

It was huge. And it was eating another fish. Both were ling cod, the best of the best for these rockfishing trips. I had hooked the smaller fish, but it was too small too keep. Luckily, the big one wasn't letting go of its breakfast, because she got tossed right in my bucket!

Many hours and different fishing spots later, I had my limit of seven rockfish, plus one ling cod. We scooted back to the dock, and they rushed my fish to get weighed. Twenty-nine pounds. Twenty-nine pounds of delicious fish.

Here's the beast, barely fitting in my bucket full of other fish.

A nice guy named James, who was on the same boat and took my pic with the fish after it got weighed, held open its mouth for me. Those teeth are sharp.

Here's me with my fish! Lots of people were taking my picture, and even more were stopping by and asking me about it. Beginner's luck, I tell ya.

Overall, that was one of the most fun things I've ever done for my job (yeah, I was clocked in while I was on the water). I can't wait to do it again.

Fruitless fishing

Last Friday was a perfect example of why I love this job. To do a story on a fishing guide, he gladly allowed me to tag along on one of his guided boats, and we went to the Umpqua River, which flows half an hour north of the Bay Area.

It was foggy. It was early. Like, 6 a.m. early. We couldn't see the other side of the river, and we launched almost silently, save for his boat's motor.

Here's Rick and his dog, Molly, who was trying to get the bubbles coming from the motor. She was adorable — couldn't wait to get a fish.

U.S. Highway 101 bridge, behind the fog.

Got to watch the sun rise and burn off the fog — incredible feeling.

And by the end of the morning, it looked like this. I got some sun (mostly on my ears and hands, since they were basically the only parts exposed). What we didn't get was fish. Not a bite. Not a nibble. Nothing.

Rick couldn't believe it. The conditions were right. The bait was nice. He's done this his whole life, so he certainly wasn't mistaken. Sometimes the fish just aren't hungry, I suppose.

His boat caught 10 fish the next day. And he nabbed a 40-pound salmon on Monday. The luck of the outdoors writer — perhaps their fishy friends warned them about all the spawning (and necessary killing) I'd done at the hatcheries. Oh well, it still wasn't a bad way to work for six hours on the clock.

San Francisco

Then we drove to San Francisco! The drive was mostly uninspiring — the part of Cali nobody talks about when they're gushing about the beaches and mountains and celebrities. We saw a lot of rice fields, and SO MANY OLIVE TREES.

But eventually we got to the city, after a very stressful drive. (People in California are HORRIBLE drivers. And they don't know it. Or they don't care, either one.) And we met up at our beautiful, old hotel, the Chancellor. It was right in the heart of Union Square, which we loved, but darn it if it didn't have AC. So windows (without screens) were open, the ceiling fan on. Told you it was old. But it was beautifully modern as well, with saturated green walls and sleek furniture.

After settling in, we researched the cable car line (public transit is scarily confusing for outsiders), and walked down to the turntable, where they turn the cars around (MANUALLY!) and headed to Fisherman's Wharf. We were being tourists one day, darn it.

Waiting for the cable car, there was a Gap and Forever 21 right there. This is what Gap looks like.

And the cable car!

Screw the super touristy spots, we ate at Salty's on the Wharf (thanks to a tip from a blogger who said they had the best deal in the city).

They have this fishwich, and it's huge. I think it's cod, battered incredibly, and was the best tasting fish sandwich I'd ever had. Well we bought a whole one, $8, and we split it. It came with an entire cod fillet between two hilariously small buns, packed with a vinegar-y, cilantro-y cole slaw, which was amazingly fresh.

We were also informed we should order their garlic fries, so we did. The order was huge. And we couldn't finish them (that's how big the fish sandwich was, if we couldn't finish the fries, either). They were made with green garlic and parmesan cheese, twice fried, and were about the best fries I've ever eaten. I was still tasting them the following morning, that's how strong they were. Definitely a hidden gem.

Alcatraz from the Wharf. We didn't visit, but I bet it's cool. It looks a lot closer to land than you would think.

Ghiradelli Square! The area was beautiful brick, and had tons of history for the chocolate-making company's home base. So yes, we bought Leslie some chocolate for taking care of the kitties, and we partook in an indulgent sundae. Vanilla ice cream, Ghiradelli hot fudge, Ghiradelli peanut butter, whipped cream in a waffle bowl that was dipped in Ghiradelli dark chocolate. We shoved that in after our filling fishy dinner.

The Golden Gate bridge from far away. We were actually just resting on the walk home from the Wharf, halfway up a ridiculous hill. People have to be fit in SF, whew.

Day two was completely undocumented, mostly because it was all about food, and I was too busy shoving my face to wipe off my greasy hands and dig for my camera. But I'll share the dirty details with you, mostly because I don't want to forget all the amazing food I ate. It's about to get wordy up in here.

Ferry Building: A food lover's paradise. Basically tons of stores with locals sellers of just about everything you can imagine. Mushrooms. Wine. Fruit. Honey. Olive Oil. Cheese. It was tantalizing.

We had a pre-lunch at Boccalone, which is owned by Food Network's Chris Cosentino (who hails from SF). It's basically pig. Smoked, cured, salted, piggy perfection. The dude has a pig tattoo — he knows his stuff. So we got the salumi cone for like, $3, which is just a paper cone with three types of piggy goodness in it. We had mortadella, pancetta (I think), and something else that I'm sure John can remember. I can't really describe the delicious flavors they all had, all I know is that they were perfection. Fatty, oily, salty, perfect.

Then we ate lunch. Oh, lunch. We went to Cowgirl Creamery after some serious debate on where to eat. We ordered their grilled cheese of the day, and we honestly had no idea what was on it, but we figured it had to be tasty. I remember wagon wheel cheese, and something I can't pronounce and tomato something I can't pronounce. It. Was. Incredible. Melty, tomato-y, crispy. I got a raspberry cream soda, which was made with actual cream and raspberry soda. John got chocolate milk, and it was easily the best we ever had.

We bought some lemon olive oil (haven't used it yet) and some blackberry honey, which was deliciously sweet and complex in flavor, and perfect on a sourdough-type bread, lightly toasted.

Then, dinner. Also inspired by Chris Cosentino, oddly enough. On The Best Thing I Ever Ate, he said we had to eat at Mr. Pollo, a latin place mostly known for arepas. But don't get the arepas.

Order the chef's tasting menu, which is a four-course meal of the chef's choice, for $15. So we did. We got there early because it's popular and only seats 12 (though I can't imagine it's very comfortable with that many people) The place was dark, and you sit, like, four feet from the kitchen, which really isn't separated from the dining area at all. Hipster-like music blasted, and there were three (THREE!) people working there to cook our food. The chef, the chef's helper, and some other random dude who made dessert and served us when the chef himself didn't. Now, for the important part, our foray into the incredible minds of Mr. Pollo's chef.

First course: It was a lemon broth with fried yucca, fried plantains (both firsts for me!), chicken and green garlic. A perfect starter, and real depth of flavor.

Second course: Scallops, grilled to latin perfection, with yellow (orange? something? not red) beets, cucumber and cucumber foam on top (which was pretty crazy to try).

Third course: Frog leg, deep fried in crunchy, perfect batter, topped with a broken caesar dressing (we have no idea), over a parsnip puree with asparagus. I think this was my favorite.

Fourth course: Pork loin with fava beans, tomotoes, peas, avocado, topped with a sweet potato croquet.

Dessert (yeah, we went there): It was another little tasting menu, with authentic flan (MUCH better than any Mexican restaurant around here), house-made coconut/lychee ice cream, and the piece de la resistance, the life-changer, a small, steaming hot dulce de leche and queso fresco souffle.

Yeah, bow to our eternal food glory.

The next day we drove out of town, which worked out nicely, because we wanted to see the Golden Gate Bridge, and we crossed it! Here are a few pics during our stop.

After that, we drove five-ish hours north, through towering redwoods and rolling hills to Patricks Point State Park, our camp for one night. I have a few intoxicating pics from the nearby beach as we awaited sunset, so I'll share those in a less wordy post. Gold star for reading through all this.