Los Angeles with Jutta – Day 2

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Wilshire Motel in Los Angeles, California

Don’t neglect your stories because 10 or 20 years later, you might find yourself browsing your memories and looking at a sequence of photos, you’ll discover that nothing much of those days still exists from the depths of your head. I’m writing this in early 2022, having just stayed at the Wilshire Motel in Los Angeles, so it is a no-brainer that our day started here, but the details are remote.

Caroline Wise and Jutta Engelhardt in Santa Monica, California

With that landmass in the background, I can be assured that Caroline and Jutta are standing on the beach in Santa Monica north of the pier, but that’s about it.

Jutta Engelhardt in Santa Monica, California

To make my task more difficult, I’ve gone ahead and chosen 19 images to include here; not that I’ll have enough to write about the day, but I like what I captured, and they do remind me of those days we made our first visit to the museum just below.

Getty Villa in Los Angeles, California

Here we are at the Getty Villa in Pacific Palisades.

Getty Villa in Los Angeles, California

I can’t believe we could have chosen a more beautiful day to be here.

Getty Villa in Los Angeles, California

An early “Talk to the Hand” sculpture.

Getty Villa in Los Angeles, California

Please excuse the following images for not having anything noted about them, but, to be honest, I got nothing…well, aside from inspiration, respect, and admiration

Getty Villa in Los Angeles, California

Getty Villa in Los Angeles, California

Getty Villa in Los Angeles, California

Getty Villa in Los Angeles, California

Getty Villa in Los Angeles, California

Getty Villa in Los Angeles, California

Getty Villa in Los Angeles, California

Getty Villa in Los Angeles, California

Caroline Wise and Jutta Engelhardt at Daikokuya Ramen Shop in Little Tokyo Los Angeles, California

I’d recognize this tiny shop in the heart of Los Angeles in a second; it is Daikokuya Little Tokyo, which, in my narrow opinion, has the best ramen on the west coast of America.

Niko Pueringer of Corridor Digital in Little Tokyo Los Angeles, California

At the time of our visit, I was a huge fan of the work coming out of the YouTube channel Corridor Digital, and as luck would have it, I ran into this guy, Niko Pueringer, who was waiting on a to-go order. Shamelessly, I asked to snag a photo of this minor celebrity; what they were doing with special FX and short storytelling I thought was genius.

Jutta Engelhardt, Caroline Wise, and John Wise at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles, California

Taking up our nosebleed seats way in the back, yep, that’s the wall about four rows behind us. Before explaining the reason for our attendance, let me share a tiny bit of nostalgia about the Shrine Auditorium: the scene in the 1933 version of King Kong where Kong breaks out of chains while being exhibited on stage was filmed right here.

Mahler Performance at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles, California

Now, on to the really big show, and I do mean REALLY BIG! Caroline, Jutta, nor I have ever attended a performance that featured 1011 people on stage, but that’s what Gustavo Dudamel has assembled before him as he conducts Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 8, and we were on hand so that we even got tickets for the extravaganza was a bit of a minor miracle.

Forgotten Oregon II – Day 6

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Disclaimer: This post is one of those that ended up being written years after the experience was had. Sadly, there were no notes taken so whatever is shared here must be extracted from the images and what memories they may have lent us. Fortunately, there was an itinerary still in my directory of travel plans, so that will help with some details. As to why this wasn’t noted or blogged about, I was in the throes of writing/editing my book Stay In The Magic and felt that any other deep writing would derail that fragile effort.

If you can dream of a better way to start the day than looking out on a molten sea with a fishing boat heading out past a lighthouse, please share that experience with me.

Okay, this would definitely enhance the experience. Linda’s Seabreeze Cafe and their oat corn waffle topped with tropical fruits and toasted coconut. Yep, now all is perfect in the world, except that we have another 12-hour drive ahead of us.

Make that 14 hours: how could we pass through Pacific Grove while the monarch butterflies are wintering over?

Not just a butterfly, mind you, but millions of orange and black fluttery little butterflies.

While we’re here, we should have one last look at the ocean, as from now on, we’ll have to get serious and drive like hell.

But first, we must linger and take in the Monterey Bay because we are here.

Lover’s Point in Pacific Grove, we’ll be back.

Oops, forgot that in San Luis Obispo, we’d be stopping at Yarn at the Adobe, but we’ll be quick.

Until we pulled into the Ventura area for a stop at Mussel Shoals.

No, Caroline, we don’t have time for you to take off your shoes and walk one more time in the surf. I swear, if those shoes come off your feet and you dare touch that water, we’ll be stopping at the North Woods Inn for dinner. I triple dare you to attempt such foolery. Fine, we’ll just get home at midnight, and it will be all your fault, like everything else. 🙂

Forgotten Oregon II – Day 5

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Disclaimer: This post is one of those that ended up being written years after the experience was had. Sadly, there were no notes taken so whatever is shared here must be extracted from the images and what memories they may have lent us. Fortunately, there was an itinerary still in my directory of travel plans, so that will help with some details. As to why this wasn’t noted or blogged about, I was in the throes of writing/editing my book Stay In The Magic and felt that any other deep writing would derail that fragile effort.

Last night we spent at the Umpqua Lighthouse State Park in the deluxe yurt with its own bathroom and kitchen. While those things are convenient, they take away from the rustic yurts that feel closer to nature. The idea of a TV in one of these defeats the magical sense of place I feel in the single-light-and-rickety-heater type of yurt I prefer. There was no time this morning to linger in the luxury of our temporary abode as we were out with the sunrise so we could tackle the 12 hours of driving required to get to Santa Cruz, California.

The drive is actually 538 miles via Highway 101, and it would be quicker if we took Interstate 5, but that road is every shade of ugly one could imagine. Time is not important; only life is important, such as this great blue heron.

We cannot stop at freeway pullouts for encounters with the ocean, and even if this delays our arrival time this evening, it won’t be the first time we pull into a motel at midnight.

Every so often, we remember to take some of the various seashells we’ve collected on our travels and part with them by returning them to the ocean. Strangely, the seagulls didn’t think we were tossing food into the air for them which is what I expected.

Something else: lightweight seashells don’t travel far when tossing them into the surf we’ve learned. From those shells taken from their place on a shelf at home, this is the final reminder that for a time, they returned us to other visits to a beach somewhere or other. It’s interesting to think that on subsequent visits, the sand we walk upon might include a solitary grain made from this particular shell.

Hmmm, like our seashells rejoining the ocean, did someone throw this old fishing vessel back into the sea so it, too, might break down into its smallest component parts?

Hey, threat of rain, you don’t scare us! We have arrived in late November, knowing full well the tempests with which the ocean gods deliver their fury on these shores at the time of their choosing, and while we are respectful, we are not fearful.

Blink, and you miss this double arch as you speed your way up or down the 101. Plenty of times, we’ve wanted to stop but were already too far past it to feel safe about backing up on the highway. Here, on an early Sunday morning, we are all alone at the overlook and, for the most part, on the road too.

I might be mistaken, but I thought these were liberty caps of the psychedelic kind. No, I don’t just pick any mushrooms with the hope they are something I want them to be; they were left right where they were growing.

Who knows where we are or who even cares as we delay the inevitable of needing to join Interstate 5 because we chose to dawdle next to the Oregon coast?

A final glance back at the ocean with the longing in our hearts that it won’t be long before we return to once again stand in awe of this most perfect stretch of land and sea we’ve visited on so many occasions.

And let’s not forget that it’s fall at this time of year with the ensuant colors that arrive with this season.

Who cares where beauty is found as long as it is found and can be appreciated?

Grabbing desperately for those reminders that will tell us we were in Oregon.

I believe this is scientifically known as a “Cuddle of Shrooms.”

Forgotten Oregon II – Day 4

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Disclaimer: This post is one of those that ended up being written years after the experience was had. Sadly, there were no notes taken so whatever is shared here must be extracted from the images and what memories they may have lent us. Fortunately, there was an itinerary still in my directory of travel plans, so that will help with some details. As to why this wasn’t noted or blogged about, I was in the throes of writing/editing my book Stay In The Magic and felt that any other deep writing would derail that fragile effort.

Yurts, we are in love with yurts. They are the perfect tiny little home away from home. What’s missing, such as the toilet and kitchen, is made up for with character.

It’s always a sad moment when we are done packing the car and cleaning the debris we’ve tracked into the yurt and are about to lock the door. We’ve never stayed in a yurt where we didn’t leave with fond memories of every minute we spent in these canvas palaces by the sea. Just writing this made me run over to the Oregon State Park site, check for availability this coming Thanksgiving 2021, and snag two nights in this exact unit.

Just up the road is Cape Perpetua, but it is what lies below that place atop the mountain, the Devils Churn, that draws me in. Down below, the rushing water crashes into a tiny slice in the earth,  a space too small to contain all of its energy, and so it explodes with the water, trying to make its escape.

I never tire of watching this spectacle and could stand here for hours capturing thousands of photos if it weren’t for Caroline gently dragging me away, reassuring me that hundreds were probably enough. As I went through the directory storing photos from this date, I ended up removing more than 250 images that I deemed unworthy. However, with all the chaos in the churn, it’s not like one could just grab the best image by taking a shot or two.

Part of the trail down to the churn. Next time I’m posting something about the Oregon Coast I should remember to capture the trail as it leads away from the parking lot as it too is a nice sight.

Speaking of nice sights.

That’s the Yaquina Head Lighthouse in the distance. A priceless 1st-order Fresnel lens sits atop its tower; the same type of lens also resides in the Heceta Head Lighthouse I wrote about yesterday.

We’ve been driving north, but somewhere or other up here, we’ll need to turn around as we have another date with a yurt south of Washburne.

Stopping in Depoe Bay to just sit a while and admire the ocean.

And occasionally look over at my wife to smile at our incredible opportunities.

The seagull knows nothing of the enslavement to economic systems, unlike us, who know nothing about the freedom to soar. While the bird cannot describe its beautiful environment, humans are typically hard-pressed to describe what is beautiful in nature.

I took one hundred photos to capture the one that ended up here. I was mesmerized by the flow and patterns the water would take as it piled up against the rocks below me each time it traveled on different pathways as receding water changed the dynamic of the water coming in. With the center column being deeper, a dark emerald color pulled me into depths where that water was mysteriously traveling outside of my purview. I wanted to be a consciousness that is able to flow where the water goes. I want to be the bird that skims over the surface of the waves, just a feather above the churn that threatens to bring it out of flight and into the realm of the fish below. Like the hyphal knot emerging atop mycelium, seeing light for the first time, I want to have my first peek at the universe, but here I am, stuck within my head of preconceptions of my place among the others in my species.

Water is infinite and doesn’t know of its relationships from the Pacific to its distant frozen cousin encased for the past 35,000 years in a glacier; it cannot know of its gaseous form in a cloud hovering over Pavlikeni, Bulgaria, or its fellow molecules about to be sipped as a coffee at a breakfast table anywhere on earth.

I on the other hand, if I try hard, am able to bring myself toward the edge of infinity when writing about what I’m looking at as I explore the internal landscape of language as it’s used to describe phenomena outside of me.

To the rocks of Siletz Bay, life is an imperceptibly slow crawl into disappearance. Over many thousands of years, they’ve grown smaller as their exteriors flake away under the barrage of the elements. I’m like those rocks in that I, too, am flaking away, but I’m aware of my disappearance as it happens in the comparative blink of an eye. Not satisfied with only knowing my fixed place, I have to travel my imagination and constantly feed it with all forms of stimuli as I try to understand the peculiarity of self-awareness that the water and rocks may never know.

I’m nearly always astonished at how little awareness my fellow humans bring to the game of life. Here we are in Lincoln City at the local streetside glassworks, and as I look at this float, it is the result of our ingenuity to bring sand, lime, and soda ash together under an incredible amount of heat that has allowed us to protect ourselves from the elements, store fluids, restore our vision, look into the heavens, and examine things we cannot see otherwise.

Where’s my bag of infinite knowledge when I want to know more about the 22° halo I’m looking at? Oh yeah, with the help of community knowledge shared on the internet, I know that this is from high-altitude hexagon-shaped ice crystals that, as light passes through them, bend the light at a 22° angle.

When did these rocks fall down? When were they formed? What minerals are present? What other people lived here 500 years ago? What are we leaving for people 500 years from now that will tell of our relationship and understanding of what we were looking at?

These barnacles won’t be telling the story, nor will the average person who might have had the ability, but instead, they are locked into artificial existences that never ask them to describe their world as much as it demands they consume banalities in their lonely isolation.

Wherever you are on this planet, what if it were just you and a friend looking out at the last sunset ever? What might you tell a future generation of beings of what you saw, experienced, and desired? What if, to a future generation of intelligent beings, the dreams, knowledge, and aspirations of a former species consisting of billions of people could be understood in minutes? What will we have collectively offered up for the incredible opportunity to have been standing there looking into existence?

Humanity has the opportunity to be 7 billion lighthouses to future generations, but instead, we trade our time on earth to effectively be nothing more than 6.9 billion specimens of bacteria buried in the soil beneath the lighthouse, hidden from view and unknown to those captivated by the shining light.

Forgotten Oregon II – Day 1

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Disclaimer: This post is one of those that ended up being written years after the experience was had. Sadly, there were no notes taken so whatever is shared here must be extracted from the images and what memories they may have lent us. Fortunately, there was an itinerary still in my directory of travel plans, so that will help with some details. As to why this wasn’t noted or blogged about, I was in the throes of writing/editing my book Stay In The Magic and felt that any other deep writing would derail that fragile effort.

If you’ve read the previous two travel posts that were titled “Forgotten…” you might have noticed that there was a Day Zero entry that this one is missing. Well, there wasn’t a single photo of our drive from Phoenix, Arizona, to Goleta, California, where we had booked a room at the Motel 6 on Calle Real.

The reason that I’m pointing out that we stayed on Calle Real is that right across the street was where we wanted to take the person traveling with us for breakfast, Backyard Bowls. We fell in love with their acai bowls and hot porridges on previous visits to our great aunt and uncle Burns, who lived right up the street.

We have 485 miles scheduled for today’s drive, but since most of it will be on Highway 1 and knowing how slow we will be, had we not staged ourselves on the north side of Los Angeles, we’d never get to Oregon. Not that we are going to arrive in Oregon at the end of this day but it is the main destination of this vacation.

With us is Caroline R. I’m leaving her relatively anonymous as she represents another friendship we wrecked. We were out here to share coastal Highway 1 with her since, if my memory serves me, she’d never been out on this stretch of scenic beauty. So, it was obligatory that we’d stop at a few key locations for her to visit the more iconic places, according to John and Caroline anyway.

The elephant seals are from a colony hanging out in the shadow of the closed Piedras Blancas Motel.

Maybe you are wondering now that I’ve baited you, how did we dash another friendship upon the rocks?  It was during this, our first trip with Caroline R., that we learned that we really weren’t compatible traveling with her, but a larger can of worms was looming on the horizon. We’d already invited her to join us on a whitewater trip into the Yukon and Alaska to raft the Alsek River the following summer, and it was at the end of that rafting trip that everything unraveled. After the Oregon trip, we tried, again and again, to let her know that it was okay if she felt like backing out of Alaska, but she never picked up on the clues, and we were too chickenshit to tell her that, while we loved meeting with her and her husband in Phoenix, we felt that traveling with her was unbearable to us. But why, John? For some people, it seems they are more comfortable sharing what they don’t like than what they do like. We, on the other hand, don’t need others to constantly point out where things could be better. Who cares about those details when you are where you are in the circumstances as they are?

That’s Caroline R. behind my Caroline W. One wants to have fun while the other has none.

Like all things, that too will pass; the clouds will clear, and we’ll take what we need from this trip. After all, our travels are about seeing the cup overflowing, as it’s never half full.

In the multi-verse of John, like two mirrors in a roadside bathroom, you can choose to see the version of your choice. If I’m just the simple reflection of surface John, I might have been wearing my Dumas persona (French spelling of Dumbass), but when you catch me about four layers deeper, there’s a different version, maybe the one Caroline fell in love with. That’s not an invitation for anyone else to fall in love with me, just me acknowledging that nobody ever really knows which version of a person they are looking at.

This version of Caroline is the anti-window one. You see (well, actually, you don’t), the Big Creek Bridge of Big Sur is right behind her. Most people want to capture the bridge; we’ve done that plenty of times, but I never can have enough of that smiling face.

You could ask Caroline at any time if she’s had enough of gazing out on a silvery ocean, and I can assure you she’d tell you, “Never!”

These sweets on display are not even my favorites from the Big Sur Bakery. I suppose a favorite hardly matters as the truth of it is I don’t care what I have from here because when we stop for a pastry and coffee, whatever we’re having is an instant favorite. Is it really all that special? Of course not, but the setting and the location make everything here absolutely amazing.

The trail to Garrapata Beach because we will “never” travel the Big Sur coast and not stop here unless the weather is so bad that we can’t be inconvenienced.

This is building up to be a perfect day.

These are the kind of bird photos I typically only get to shoot when in an aviary, my lucky day.

It might be difficult to see accurately in this photo, but the crest of the wave is well over my head as I stand on the beach. Due to the nature of the shore break, waves come in big here and just as quickly go right back out, but as they crash, they create the roar of a freight train. Each one I look at that towers over me has me thinking that this is the sneaker wave I should fear.

We spent just enough time at Garrapata to see all things big and small, but will have to get to driving as we still have 265 miles ahead of us.

With the sun setting before 5:00 p.m. at this time of year, it might not be all that late, but at this point, we were still two and a half hours from Willits, California.

Forgotten Oregon Trip – Day 4

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Disclaimer: This post is one of those that ended up being written years after the experience was had. Sadly, there were no notes taken so whatever is shared here must be extracted from the images and what memories they may have lent us. Fortunately, there was an itinerary still in my directory of travel plans, so that will help with some details. As to why this wasn’t noted or blogged about, I was in the throes of writing/editing my book Stay In The Magic and felt that any other deep writing would derail that fragile effort.

Wheeler, Oregon, caught our eye the very first time we passed through. but it was going to be another eight years before we finally got around to booking a stay here along the bay. Who am I fooling? Everywhere here in coastal Oregon has caught our imagination, and we’d gladly pull up a spot of damp earth every 500 feet along the 363-mile length of the coast if we could. Why 500 feet? If we had ten years to do nothing but dwell in the beauty of every inch of this coast, that would be the distance between our campsites to cover the 1,916,640 feet that stretch from north to south.

Lucky us that late afternoon yesterday, we had some glorious weather for our two-hour kayak adventure as here we are the next morning under some heavy skies, a good time to turn inland.

Looking at the map of our Forgotten Oregon trip here in 2011, I wonder what thinking went into the idea that we’d go from Portland to the coast back again to just south of Portland, and then we’d head up the Columbia River to Long Beach, Washington, and once more to Portland? We had about two hours on the road, passing through Cannon Beach before turning east on Highway 26 to make our way to Canby, the home of the Oregon Flock & Fiber Festival.

Died fiber waiting to become yarn. As a relatively new spinner, Caroline used this opportunity to stock up on a variety of spinning fibers, covering many sheep breeds such as Shetland, Romeldale, and CVM (California Variegated Mutant).

Spindles waiting to grab hold of fiber to make yarn. Ken and Carol Ledbetter (KCL Woods) actually hail from Southern Arizona.

Sheep waiting to be shorn to offer up their fiber so humans can make yarn that will make wool clothes.

Example of wool after it’s passed through the hands of a spinner and knitter.

There goes a sweater on the left and a warm couple of beanies on the right.

Stuff your face in this and soak up the smell of lanolin; you’ll be addicted to the magic of wool.

Fiber porn at fiber fest is just what anyone would expect, but then all of a sudden things went seriously hardcore. On this very loom (itself a naughty word!) is the exotically lust-inducing fiber art known as Chilkat weaving.

Yeah, just look at that and drool. How this can be shown out in the open is beyond my imagination. For years to come, Caroline would come back to the Chilkat style, fetishizing it with wicked intentions of someday dipping her fingers into creating such sensual designs. If you cannot begin to understand this almost erotic situation, you’ve simply not learned the way of falling into those things that are perfect hand-crafted pieces of art.

We needed some fresh air after all that frolicking in fiber, and so up to the river we went. That’s the Lewis and Clark Bridge out there over to Longview, Washington, but our sights are set on a different crossing further west.

Yep, she’s spinning on her brand new Turkish spindle instead of looking out at the scenery, and of course, I’m photographing her while I’m driving because we are those kinds of idiots.

We’re here. No, this isn’t the full breadth of the Columbia River, but it is near the spot where we will board the Wahkiakum County Ferry over to Puget Island in the main river channel. From there, we’ll pick up the highway and cross a bridge to get us into Washington proper.

We’ve just left Westport, Oregon, for our 15-minute ride across this arm of the Columbia.

That’s Puget Island in the distance.

On the right is Puget Island, and on the left is the mainland of Washington State; we are on a bridge over the middle of the Columbia River, looking east.

Only in Washington minutes, and it already looks totally different than anything to the south in Oregon.

North Head Lighthouse at Cape Disappointment, Washington

Here we are out at the North Head Lighthouse at Cape Disappointment. The lighthouse wasn’t open to visitors, we are disappointed.

But we are not disappointed with the sunset out here, not looking at it from here…

…or here.