(Mis)Adventures in Boating

Several weeks ago, a couple who attend the same church that I do invited me to visit them at their house on Oswego Lake and go for a boat ride. Here's a little lake history, back in the day it was called Sucker Lake (charming name, isn't it?). There are different stories about how it's a man-made lake but also was formed during the Missoula Flood. Perhaps the truth is a combination of the two. The lake is joined to the Willamette River by Sucker Creek, and there is also at least one canal joining it to the Tualatin River. In the late 1800's it was used to transport iron from the local iron mine down to the smelter, which was several miles away at what is now George Rogers Park. Now, it's a private lake owned and maintained by those who live around it. There is public swimming access, but if the idea is staying above the water, that's another story.

When Leon invited me to come take pictures, I jumped at the chance. After living in Lake Oswego for eight years, the closest I'd gotten to the lake was the "Duck Pond" in downtown. The view from their house was captivating enough, and I couldn't wait to go for a boat ride. However, the matter of a large bit of a canvas barrier that was part of the remodel next door getting caught in the boat's propeller, prop, blade, etc., caused a bit of a delay. While Leon was busy untangling the cloth, Sharon got out the paddle boards and gave me a quick lesson on how to ride one without taking a nose dive. Ever since I've seen groups of kids gliding along the surface of the water, I've wanted to try this. It wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be, and after a few minutes I was headed off for a quick tour. I knew all those years riding skateboards when I was a kid would come in handy.

After about 20 minutes, Leon drove the boat out, free of its slimy canvas entanglements. We then headed off under the little bridge on North Shore Drive and out into the "big lake." And it was certainly bigger than I realized. As many times as I've run, walked, or driven around it, I never realized how vast it really was.

The sun was not in the ideal spot on the way out, but I wasn't complaining. Leon told me about the history of the homes as we went by and stopped to let me take pictures of anything interesting, which was about every five feet.

Things were going swimmingly (no pun intended), when all of a sudden there was silence instead of boat motor noise. After numerous attempts to get the engine started and attempting to flag down the only blind boater on the lake, Leon got out the oar and paddled us to the nearest dock. We tied the boat up and went up the stairs to find out who our new best friends would be. Of course, I had to take a picture because it was a really nice view. Unfortunately, no one was home at

either of those homes, so we trooped next door and down more stairs. The lady of the house let Leon use her phone to call the lake patrol. They are a group of off-duty firemen who help rescue boaters and patrol the lake to make sure everyone is following the rules. Of course, this particular day, no one was on duty. So, back to the boat and into the lake to try and flag down a good Samaritan.

This time we were more successful, and some very nice people towed us all the way back home. It was a much slower ride back, but it gave me more chances to enjoy the scenery.  The house below is also known as Casablanca, and for good reason. It was once occupied by Humphrey Bogart and his wife Mayo Methot, the wife before Lauren Bacall. We soon

 were safely back and thanked our rescuers, who happened to live right across the bay from Leon and Sharon. They were both so apologetic, but there was no reason to be. I'm now assured of more visits out there to make up for all the mishaps that happened on this one.

September Daze

Yesterday morning started off relatively early (well, for a Saturday) at 6:30ish. The sun is getting closer to rising over the peak of Mt. Hood and my goal is to capture it on film. What does one say now that we no longer use film? Capturing an image on SD card just doesn't have the same ring. Either way, the effect is the same. Less than a mile from my house is a fairly unobstructed view of Mt. Hood (if you stand on the curb at just the right spot) and even though the sun hasn't made it to the pinnacle yet, it's still a gorgeous view. Of course, I can't take just one shot so I have about 20 that look mostly like the picture at left. You never know when you might need a spare sunrise picture of Mt. Hood, and I want to be prepared. After a quick breakfast and the seasonal pumpkin spice cappuccino, it was time to head off in the general direction of the hills of northwest Portland. My aunt used to have a sign on her desk that said "indecision is the key to flexibility." That sums up a lot of my Saturday outings. I usually have a general idea of where I'm going but if I see something interesting, the plans can change in a moment. Such was the case as I was heading up a hill above Burnside. A parking spot was handy and I figured I could walk to the spot I had planned on parking in as well as I could drive there. After making sure there weren't any "no parking" signs hiding in the underbrush, I headed up the hill and toward one of the residential entrances to Forest Park. Soon I had gone from beautiful homes and flowers to the shady paths of the forest. After taking a right turn downhill, I was on my way to NW Cornell St. and, for me, uncharted territory. There was a group of walkers behind me and I must confess to a Gandalf-like voice echoing in my ears "You shall not pass!" as I sped up, determined that no one would outwalk me. I'm sure that's something I'll outgrow, well, maybe.

Once I reached NW Cornell, there was some consultation of the GPS, not to mention another walker, and then I continued along the road heading for another section of the Wildwood trail. I soon found it and was once again deep in the forest. There was a small trickle of water running in the creek and it was very peaceful as I crunched along the trail. I passed several intersections with other trails but continued on the same path. After awhile, I came upon a map with a very helpful "you are here" star. The only problem was there were two dotted lines radiating from the star showing two possible locations of where you actually were. Knowing what side of NW Cornell you were on was crucial. Fortunately, I did know so it wasn't difficult to figure out where I was and where the trail headed. At the next trail intersection, I headed out of the park and back into civilization. This part of northwest Portland is alive with Craftsman style homes and it almost feels as if you step out of the forest and into another era. I love the multi-colored stair railings that abound all over Portland.   Although, you do get some odd looks when people see you taking pictures of staircases. Then again, the motto here is "keep Portland weird" so I don't know why I should worry about a few sideways glances.

After about seven miles or so, I was back to my car and ready to head home. There was a short intermission from the day's fun for mundane chores like getting the oil in my car changed and vacuuming, one of my truly favorite pastimes, before I could go play photographer again. After seeing all the clouds build up in the afternoon sky, I thought there might be a chance for a nice sunset so I headed down to the lake in downtown Lake Oswego, to see what might come along. I love it when I'm not disappointed. There wasn't quite the color I had hoped for, but the clouds put on a spectacular show. At times, they almost resembled something from a Renaissance style fresco. There were a few boats still on the water, but overall there was a feeling of evening calm as the sun slowly sank behind the trees. The ducks also seemed to be enjoying it as they practiced their takeoffs and landings or calmly paddled past people eating a late dinner on the patio of a local restaurant. As far as weather goes, the Pacific Northwest is known mostly for its rainy interludes, but when it comes to an Indian Summer, this place is hard to beat.

Tales of a Tightwad Walker

I'm tight with money, I admit it. The word frugal sounds better, but it all boils down to the same thing: if I can save a few pennies by exerting a little effort, I'm more than happy to do so. Examples of this are walking around the apartment in seven layers of clothes during the winter to avoid turning on the heat, making three meals out of my favorite Chinese  takeout, and walking instead of driving as much as I can. The last one is especially helpful in finding new pictures to take since taking pictures while driving full speed is usually frowned upon. Besides, the pictures are usually rather blurry and about two seconds too late. But I digress.

One other area where this frugality comes through, especially in the summer, has to do with berries. When I moved here it was in October and I wondered what these long, treacherous looking thorny vines were that seemed to grow all over the city. Well, come summer I discovered that what looked like some random relative of the wild rose family was actually a blackberry bush. There's just something about blackberries when they're picked off the vine on a warm summer day (assuming they're ripe of course, nothing will pucker your face up like a tart blackberry). They just smell like summer. During the evenings in July and September, I often spend a bit of time picking blackberries in the nearest neighborhood bramble. They're wonderful in oatmeal, cobbler, fruit salads, well you get the idea.

Flowers abound at the market

A few weeks ago as I was walking home from the local farmers market, I noticed what appeared to be strawberry plants growing along one particular stretch of road. I found that rather odd and didn't bother them in case they were someone's garden. On later reflection, it seemed unlikely that anyone would plant strawberries across the street from their house and I decided the city must have planted them. This was backed up by my discovery last week of blueberry bushes growing along the route I take during my lunch hour walk.

Being the health conscious person I am (ahem, well sometimes am), I decided to go strawberry picking one evening last week. Camera in hand, of course, I started off on the three-mile trek. Along the way, I came across some beautiful flowers growing in the yard of an elderly English couple that I have had the pleasure of visiting with in the past. Further down the street there was a fascinating specimen of a banana slug, but I'll spare you the gory details. Nothing makes me shudder quite like a slimy slug oozing its way through life.

Finally, I made it to the street with the berries. There weren't a lot of ripe ones yet, but there were enough to sprinkle on at least two bowls of oatmeal. After picking the berries, I headed back home along one of the busier streets in town that also runs alongside one part of the local country club golf course. I don't play golf, frankly I find it boring, but I will say that this part of the course is rather lovely with the pond, willow tree, bridge, and fake swan.

Yes, a fake swan, rather like some juvenile giant's rubber ducky. Regardless of the fake bird, I did want a shot of the pond and the tree and bridge reflected in it. There's a guardrail along the road (to keep the blackberry bushes from encroaching) and after stepping over it I started to make my way down the small slope to the path around the course. Trouble was, my feet slid out from under me and I slipped and landed on, sadly, my strawberry bag. I have to admit to holding in a chuckle because it is pretty funny when you think about strawberries being smashed en route to take a picture of a fake bird in a fake pond (for all I know, the tree and bridge aren't real either). Upon further examination I could tell at least three or four berries were still intact so it wasn't a total loss. At least I got some decent pictures out of it. I'm tempted to enter them in the local photo contest under the title "Fake Swan Lake" but I'm not sure I have enough nerve to do that. The swan was photo shopped out of the picture above and to the right. After all, if the swan is fake, then there's no harm in doing a little fakery with the picture either.