AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

Into the Kalmiopsis Wilderness and Back Again | Siskiyou Crest 3
Part of the Siskiyou Crest Adventure Trail (Aug 2023) trip.

Having gone to bed with smoke so thick that we could barely see the mountains a few hundred feet away, and wondering if the smart move would be to head home rather than push through the remainder of the Siskiyou Crest Adventure Trail, I let out an audible whoop as I unzipped the tent door to greet the morning light.

Wilderness! We can see the wilderness!​

At some point during the night - I couldn't tell you when since I'd zipped up all the doors of the tent to keep as much of the smoke outside as possible - the wind direction shifted nearly 180 degrees. Blowing the pea soup out to sea, it resulted in the clearest morning of our trip, and certainly lifted our spirits as we prepped for our six-mile hike to Pearsoll Peak, the highest in the Kalmiopsis Wilderness.

By 6:39am, we were on our way!​

Following what we'd later discover was an old mining road, the trail wound its way along the Kalmiopsis Rim, gaining elevation at a constant - but reasonable - pace. All around us, views extended for miles farther than we'd been able to see the day before, and our heads were on a constant swivel as we soaked it all in. I can't convey the sense of glory and relief I had, especially after my apprehension the night before.

The winds blowing over the Siskiyou, some remaining smoke had still settled into the Illinois River Valley to the east.​

With the sun at our backs, the Kalmiopsis Wilderness stretched far and wide to our west. (Oh, and there's the Tacoma in our camp, nestled into the saddle below.)​

We expected the road to deteriorate as we climbed, but to our surprise, it was in good condition - even actively maintained - in areas that would naturally wash out due to the presence of drainages and springs that were still sending water down the mountain.

We'd discover the answer to this mystery later, but for now we wondered if we'd somehow missed the route that might have allowed us to engage in some good old-fashioned "American Hiking." You know the kind with a skinny pedal and 4WD.

​

Of course, we were enjoying our time on foot, as we'd had plenty of driving over the previous two days.

One of the springs was cascading over an outcropping of green serpentinite before entering a newly installed culvert under the road.​

Around each of the springs - and as far as we could see along their waterways - life was abundant. California Pitcher Plants seemed more spectacular than the curated display we'd seen the previous day. Wild blackberries - smaller and more delicious than the Himalya variety found in supermarkets - were perfectly ripe. And orange tiger lilies dangled daintily over the rushing water, all manner of pollinators partaking in their bounty.

Complete with a bow tie!​

The perfect after-breakfast snack. So tasy!​

Tiger lily trio.​

We passed five springs - the only ones along the route - in just under a mile. From there, the trail leisurely switched back and forth a couple times, our rate of elevation gain nearly constant from the time we left camp to our emergence on a narrow ridge where we got our first glimpse of our destination.

Who says the California state rock can't vacation in Oregon? (Serpentinite)​

As with many lookouts we've visited, the one on Pearsoll Peak seemed to have attracted that which it was designed to prevent.​

This ridge - devoid of trees and rich with views - was my favorite segment of the hike.​

All closed up.​

The view into the wilderness was only getting better.​

Across the ridge, the road crossed a scree field. This was the first place where it started to seem a little sketchy - not due to width, but because the lower track had started to slide down the hill over the years and it was reasonably off camber. Passable? Perhaps. But, "it wouldn't be fun backing down this section if there's nowhere to turn around," I remarked to my hiking partner to copious nodding.

And then, maybe 500 feet beyond the scree field, we reached the end of the road. From there, nothing but a footpath continued on to the lookout, still more than 500 feet above us.

It wasn't obvious at first, but as I glanced around - wondering why the road ended at this particular location, I realized that we were standing at the bottom of an old ore chute. Above us - and below it would turn out - adits plunged into the mountain, discarded waste rock well-camouflaged by the already-crumbling hillside.

All that remains of an old ore chute from the Pearsoll Peak Chromium Mine.​

A few old nails - waiting to be used, or collected by visitors like us?​

Having identified tailings piles a hundred feet up the hill, we had a couple options - the easiest would be to ignore the possibility of an explorable adit and continue on up to the lookout. The funnest (that is a word), would be to scramble up the hillside to investigate.

We decided to do both - in that I started scrambling, and @mrs.turbodb called up to find out if I'd discovered anything interesting.

Well look what we have here... ​

Could have used a bit more safety juju.​

Definitely looks safe from the inside. What could possibly go wrong?​

After describing the situation with the collapsed adit - and having watched my slippery ascent up the scree-covered hillside - @mrs.turbodb decided that she was good down on the trail, but surprised me by asking a question that I hadn't even considered:

"Do you want to just keep climbing up to the lookout from there, while I take the trail?"​

My answer should have been obvious and quick. After all, I'd just seen the lookout as we'd walked across the ridgeline saddle. But, looking up the crumbling hillside, it seemed like it might be doable to pick my way up. Pulling out my route navigation device - an 8" Lenovo Tab M8 FHD that works really well with the topo maps on Backcountry Navigator XE - the ascent didn't seem that much worse than the ascent of the trail, so I decided to give it a go. Assuming it worked, I'd have only about a quarter the distance to travel as my companion, and I wouldn't have to find a way back down to the trail.

Now, before I continue with the story, I feel it is important to highlight two elements of that last sentence.

1. "Assuming it worked" - we all know what they say about "assume," but in this case I was the only one involved. So, perhaps I was twice the (dumb)ass that I might normally be.
2. "I wouldn't have to find a way back down" - even from my current position, I was already concerned about downclimbing my way back to the trail. What idiot would continue up when running into an impassable section above would necessitate going even farther back down. Oh, right, this guy between the keyboard and screen.

Hindsight of course is 20/20, and as I climbed up the next hundred feet, I quickly realized I'd made a mistake. Unfortunately, this is where point #2 came into play. Plus, knowing she had a longer distance to go than I did, @mrs.turbodb was nowhere to be seen as I started picking my way down the loose, 65 degree slope.

It only took a descent of about 15 feet for me to realize that "down" was really not an option.

And so, up I went, grabbing every piece of vegetation I could, testing each crumbly piece of Serpentinite before transferring my weight. It was slow going. I cut my hand on a rock. The wind picked up as I skirted a narrow ledge. I was dumb enough to let go of everything so I could snap a couple photos.

Doesn't look so bad from this angle, but I can assure you that this little tree exists on the edge of an abyss.​

Eventually I reached a shallower ridge leading up to the lookout. I'd survived. I quickened my pace in the hopes that I could at least salvage a win by reaching the top first. And then @mrs.turbodb popped her head around the lookout and asked me if I was OK, adding, "My route was amazing, through the most beautiful garden-like setting."

I just smiled - a mixture of defeat and success - as I climbed up the final 15 foot ledge to the lookout.

The point at which I knew I wasn't going to die. Oh, and a nice view.​

There are certainly worse places to take care of business.​

From the top, the views overlooking the Kalmiopsis Wilderness were endless. These were not large mountains, but they were wild.​

Lee Wetzel | L.O. | 1954​

Initially, as we walked around the exterior, it appeared that the lookout was all locked up. We'd expected as much from the descriptions we'd read, knowing that - at the very least - it had been abandoned as an active lookout sometime between its installation in 1954 and its restoration by the Illinois Ranger District and the Sand Mountain Society in 1994. In fact, prior to this building, a cupola-style lookout was erected onsite in 1920, as reported in the local paper:

We have at last completed the Pearsoll Peak Lookout house; it is one of the ready cut standard type and it sure is a real house. We bumped up against a few minor mistakes which caused not a little grief, for instance, the plans call for tower windows size 33 1/2" x 38" but when we came to fit the windows we found they were 30"x38". A lot of swearing naturally followed. Further, the bevels on the quarter round were all cut only on one side; four of the jack rafters were four inches too short. Most unfortunate, while the table for the fire finder conforms exactly to the specifications, it is at least 14" too low. On a downward slope of 45 degrees or more, one could never sight the base of a fire looking through the sights of the alidade.

July 1920, Siskiyou Bulletin​

Then, as I more closely inspected the steel bars securing the shutters, I noticed that they could be lifted out of the way without the need for a key, allowing the shutters to be raised and the door to be opened. A few minutes later, we were inside!

It was a mess in there. Apparently, a new group of volunteers are working to restore the lookout a second time.​

First ones to sign the book in nearly a year! Little did we know that we'd soon meet the "K" of "N+K" who signed the same page, nearly a year earlier.​

After poking around in the pile of tools for a few minutes, we stashed the documentation back in the tupperware we'd found it in and retraced @mrs.turbodb's steps down from the summit.

The garden of which she'd spoke.​

As we were nearing the point at which we'd parted ways on the hike up (the upper tailings pile), we noticed a second tailings pile, accessible via a lower road.​

We couldn't come all this way without inspecting the lower workings of the Pearsoll Peak Chromium Mine, and a few minutes later our curiosity paid off - a second adit, this one leading much deeper into the mountain.

Nice and wet inside. Surely that can't be good for the wooden supports.​

"Supports." Six inches from the ceiling and rotten through and through. Definitely not supporting anything at all.​

After venturing a few hundred yards into the mountain, I'd had enough. I can't be certain, but the tracks in this adit suggest to me that it was likely connected to the adit further up the hillside that I'd explored earlier in the day via a vertical shaft. Ore would be sent down the shaft and then moved via ore cart to a truck waiting at the entrance.

Retracing my steps to safety.​

To the edge of the waste pile, and beyond!​

It was a lot of fun exploring the mind, but @mrs.turbodb was relieved when I mentioned I was ready to go. Unlike me, she's not dumb enough to climb herself into places she can't climb down, or venture into adits that are "totally safe."

Headed back down across the ridge, still my favorite part of the hike.​

This Fritillary flitted by as we worked our way down the switchbacks.​

We reached camp just before 11:00am, both of us ready for lunch after our morning workout. And, with only about 60 miles of Siskiyou Crest Trail remaining, we decided that we might as well eat the tacorittoes we'd planned to have for dinner, easy to do since the Tacoma was still set up in camp.

Then, just as we were about to light the stove, I caught movement in my peripheral vision. Two hikers - their packs stuffed to the brim - appeared from the west. There was a trail into the Kalmiopsis Wilderness there - though not one I'd have considered hiking, and it turns out that our new friends were just as surprised to see us parked at the pass as we were to see them.

After warm hellos, we each shared our stories - these two, part of the Siskiyou Mountain Club, an organization that maintains all of the hiking trails in the region. They'd camped with a sizable group far below us the previous night, and were hiking their way along the Kalmiopsis Ridge Trail to shuttle two vans that we'd seen at the wilderness overlook we'd visited the previous afternoon.

Turns out that the woman in the group - whose name I've forgotten but starts with a "K," was the "K" of "N+K" in the Pearsoll Peak Lookout logbook, having visited nearly a year earlier!

Seriously, what are the chances?

After a few more minutes of chatting - the SMC folks extremely interested to hear about the road conditions we'd encountered in reaching Chetco Pass via mechanical means - we all bid each other well and settled back into our routines.

A long way to go back to the vans. Especially with those packs!​

After lunch, we cruised back down towards the Illinois River, the remnants of the 2002 Biscuit Fire still scaring the landscape around us.​

Upon reaching the river, there was only one thing on our mind - cooling off with a dip under the suspension bridge we'd passed on our way in the previous evening. Donning our swimsuits - one of us eased her way into the water, the other diving headfirst into the pleasantly cool pool.

We didn't do enough swimming on this trip, and we wore too many clothes when we did.​

Refreshed, it was just a few minutes after noon when we stashed our already-almost-dry gear in the back of the Tacoma and began our climb up, and then along, the Illinois River towards a water crossing of Briggs Creek and the closest we'd get to the still-only-17%-contained Flat Fire.

The drive along the high road above the Illinois River Valley was breathtaking.​

Briggs Creek was the perfect depth to wash the undercarriage - making my job just a little easier when we get home.​

Now that's a road cut.​

Tall trees (left) and fall flowers (right).
We initially thought that these plants were skunk cabbage when we saw them without blooms, but they are apparently a corn lily (Veratrum californicum), and extremely toxic.​

As we rounded a bend near Flat Top Mountain, we caught a glimpse of smoke rising from the southern leg of the Flat Fire. As I got out to snap a photo, @mrs.turbodb pulled out her binoculars and spotted two helicopters working the area, each of them releasing load after load of water onto the flames.

Luckily not the direction we're headed.​

It was 2:30pm when we embarked on the final leg of our route. Chrome Ridge Road derived its name from the ore mined here during World Wars One and Two - the same chromium that miners at Pearsoll Peak had tunneled into the hillside to retrieve - which was used to create a hard, rust-resistant armor for battleships and tanks.

Since that time, loggers, miners, the Civilian Conservation Corps, and the US Forest Service have used the Chrome Ridge Road as a major thoroughfare, a fitting end to our travel through the region.

Today, a white Chrome Ridge Road snakes through red hills.​

The original culverts along this route were made of wood, and it seems that the tradition has continued, though with a bit of cheating with modern tech. (pressure treating)​

@mrs.turbodb spotted this beautiful (Coopers Hawk?) feather along the side of the road.​

Having entered the Siskiyou in a grove of Madrone, it was a fitting end to air up two days later under the same red-and-green barked giants.​

Within a few minutes of airing up we hit pavement in Galice, Oregon along the banks of the Rogue River. From there, we followed the mighty Rogue east, eventually flowing into a sea of cars making their way north on I-5.

It'd been a great introduction to the Siskiyou, and I'm sure it won't be long before we return.

 

You can toss additional ceramic tint (20% maybe good) on the sunroof and that would probably help a lot. Even just one of the UV ceramic films for the side windows would help a bit too but I'd probably consider a 50% if you still want most of the brightness and to cut the heat.

 

Tints come in a variety of different shades. Technically, tints are illegal in California but if you apply the lightest ceramic, it will not be much darker than the stock window tint. It's the ceramic, not tint, that block the sun. For example, the front windows of my car are lighter than the rear. The windshield is not tinted--you need a doctor's exemption to do that.

When I was getting tinted, they demonstrate the ceramic with a light bulb box and as much as I wanted it to be BS and just another upsell, it's not.

 

I wish the guy at the tint place had shown me that a couple months ago when I had him match the existing tint on a replacement window. Probably would've gone for the ceramic and upgraded the other windows had I known that it wasn't just an upsell.

After driving around in the desert for the past 8 days, though, I think that I'll be getting a six-window sunshade kit so that the fridge uses less juice during the day.

 

The Siskiyou is a beautiful area. Thanks for that reminder @turbodb!

 

I don't know what y'all are talking about. Mines are a safe and welcoming place to relax and cool off, especially after fits of road rage and reckless driving.



Artesenal mineral water... you won't believe what they charge for this shit at spas!

My truck has illegal tint from a prior owner -- a good one with the ceramic shit. It is definitely effective at keeping cab temps down in sunlight.

But at night it is essentially opaque and I hate it. I've hit like six pedestrians this year. Or maybe bicyclists--couldn't tell. Plus mistook a boat ramp for a Wendy's drive-thru. Twice.

 

Bottle that stuff and use a fancy label. Millionaire in no time, which means you can move somewhere they can't find you.

 

First Time Fishing
Part of the First Time Fishing (Aug 2023) trip.

With @mini.turbodb getting bigger, only two viable seats in the Tacoma, and having sold the family 4Runner, it's a lot harder to get the whole family out to our favorite camp site on a regular basis. Of course, with @mini.turbodb getting older, the thought of spending time in the woods - away from showers, mirrors, and technology - and having to put up with parents - peskier creatures than mosquitoes - isn't all that appealing anyway.

And yet, several times over the last six months, she has mentioned the desire to try fishing for the first time.

So, when @mrs.turbodb got called out of town, and we had a couple mid-week summer days with no camps or practices, it seemed like as good a time as any to introduce the kiddo to the joy of reeling in dinner. And then killing it. And gutting it. And then savoring the sweetness!

Or at least, trying!

When I was her age, I could spend 12-hours on my favorite creek, always hoping I could throw every fish back so that I never reached my limit.​

Unlike other trips - where we pack the night before and are underway before there's even a hint of the sun on the horizon - this one started bright and early at 11:30am, with a visit to the sporting goods store for supplies. Fishing has clearly become a bigger business than it was when I was a kid, but we were able to escape with only the essentials for a first-timer: a simple rod, some #12 hooks, a pack of sinkers and bobbers, some swivels, and of course, salmon eggs.

And then, we were off! Never mind that it was even hotter on the other side of the Cascades than it had been at home, we pumped up the air conditioning and set our sights on the cool breeze that's always blowing along a creek named for icicles.

After stopping for a quick lunch, we sat in traffic for more than 90 minutes before making a u-turn and looking for another route!​

With traffic finally behind us, it was a little after 4:00pm when we pulled into off of the main drag and along the spur to the camp site that has become @mini.turbodb's favorite over the years. She'd piped up as we'd turned onto dirt, to make sure that I knew that she didn't want the "dark, buggy campsite along the creek," but instead wanted "the secret one up on the hill."

Winding our way along a road that's nearly invisible until you know it's there!​

With fire danger in the "extreme" range and Stage 1 restrictions in effect, we'd need to figure out something when it came time for marshmallows...​

Usually, arrival in camp is followed by a flurry of activity as I set up the tent and @mrs.turbodb preps for dinner. But when you're a newly minted teenager, there's nothing more important (except for your cell phone) than checking out all the places you remember to see if - or how - they've changed. Luckily our cell phones were service-less hunks of junk way out here, so I set off behind her as we headed down to the creek.

A familiar tree is the easiest path through the low brush.​

As usual, once we reached the little beach where we generally hang out, several rocks were liberated from their dry homes, destined once again for the bottom of the creek until the following winter, when high water would redeposit them on the beach, ready to be skipped again.

Satisfied that things were as they should be, we headed back to camp.​

At this point I wasn't exactly sure how much help would be needed as tents were deployed - we had two, since @mini.turbodb was way too cool to sleep in the same tent as someone as uncool as myself - and I was pleasantly surprised when she was able to do 95% of the set up herself. Maybe this uncool dude has taught her a thing or two over the years. Or not, I mean, she is cool enough to have been born with the knowledge, I suppose.

This spot looks flat enough. I do have a 3/4" Thermarest, after all... ​

Last pole going in.​

Our chores complete and 90 minutes to kill until dinner, there was only one thing left to do - go play in the water! Or, if you're of the age where a tan matters, try to find any bit of sun on a now-shady beach in order to score the perfect skin tone.

Funny how - after I created a small pool for my feet - someone else ended up in my chair.​

The, "I see what you did there when I got up to grab some more skippers," look.​

Off doing a bit more exploring across the creek.​

I have to say, sitting there amongst the rocks, building a little pool and helping the kiddo with a crossword - something we are both admittedly terrible at - was perhaps the most pleasant way to spend an evening. @mini.turbodb seemed to enjoy it as well, though I can only assume that she might have described it as torture to her friends.

Eventually, as the sun raced up the valley, we knew it was time to head back to camp.​

Dinner was an interesting affair. We'd planned to have fried chicken wraps - essentially, chicken fingers with condiments, lettuce, and avocado inside a tortilla - but I'd forgotten a key ingredient: tortillas. Luckily, we'd planned for hot dogs the following evening, and with an entire pack of buns, dinner was officially fried chicken sandwiches as we continued to work on the same "easy" crossword that we'd started down on the beach.

I don't know who classified it as "easy," but our struggle was real.​

Last light.​

I think terrible would be a nice way to describe our crossword talents, and as bed time approached, we decided to give it a rest and drown our failure in marshmallows. This couldn't be done over a camp fire - a fact that I'd been reminded of several times by my little rule follower - but I had other plans.

At least we still used some vine maple skewers.​

And then, after a bit of teeth brushing and a "I'm looking forward to fishing tomorrow," it was off to bed. For one of us; the other still had to clean up after dinner.

The following morning...

As anyone who's done any amount of stream fishing knows, the best time to be out there is right around sunrise.

As anyone who has teenagers knows, sunrise is not a time that a teenager considers to be worth waking up for.

It was a just before 9:00am when @mini.turbodb unzipped her tent and headed into the woods to go to the bathroom. She'd slept well - better than the previous week at home, apparently - and was ready to go fishing. After breakfast, of course.

Now, we still had to do a bit of setting up of the pole, but luckily the Eagle Claw swivels had a handy diagram of the knots we were to tie as we got everything assembled, and in no time a "disgusting" salmon egg was hiding the hook and I was demonstrating how to lob the bait into the current so it'd be carried into the hole - and hopefully the mouth of a hungry rainbow!

She caught on quick.​

Maybe this is the spot.​

Soon, she was out in the middle of the creek.​

I was pretty impressed at how long she stuck with it, unphased by the lack of fish for dinner or even nibbles on her line. For a good couple of hours, she tried one hole after the other. Slowly improving her underhand casting technique, until she realized that an overhand approach would get the bait much farther from shore.

Distance - it turned out - was the name of the game for her, though the increased acceleration of the line as she cast it towards the opposite bank also increased the frequency of "so disgusting" rebaiting. No matter, she kept at it, working her way downstream and then back towards camp.

There was a nice little eddy here that surely had fish in it.​

Eventually we ended up back at our little beach, where I tried to read my Kindle, but really just watched her have a good time.​

All that casting has worked up an appetite, back to camp for lunch!​

Luckily, I hadn't forgot any of the ingredients for lunch and as I prepped the pepper turkey sandwiches, the kiddo pulled up a chair and opened up her "Favorite Easy Crosswords" book so we could struggle again at the simplest of clues.

Actually, I think they just put the wrong cover on the book - surely what we had was the "Impossible Crosswords" edition. At any rate, we still hadn't finished a single puzzle when we decided that it was starting to get warm up in camp, so perhaps we ought to head back down to the creek for a bit more fishing.

Convinced that there weren't any fish in the creek near camp - obviously we'd have caught them if there were - we grabbed the pole and headed to a bridge about a mile downstream. There, several large pools looked promising and soon @mini.turbodb was unscrewing the cap on the salmon eggs to give them a go.

Lots of places for the fishies to hide.​

We stayed at these holes for nearly two hours, cast after cast plopping into the water. The patience was initially helped by the visual confirmation of several fish swimming about, and we tacked on an additional hour after getting two nibbles from a pair of what looked to be 7-inch rainbows.

Repositioning to get the salmon egg into just the right spot.​

Alas, after watching several eggs get gobbled up and not getting the hooks set when those eggs were still attached to our line, we called it an afternoon. @Mini had done better than I'd ever imagined, and though she hadn't reeled in dinner, she'd still had a great time. Perhaps good enough to give it a go again, in the future!

Now just after 4:00pm, we headed back to camp to repeat our actions of the previous day - sitting out on our shady little beach working on crosswords and building rock pools. Oh, and this time - after a hot, dusty day - we actually went swimming.

It was freezing. But so great.

Made it across!​

​

​

​

​

"Refreshing."​

After playing around in the water for a bit - bringing our body temps down and finding a few spots that were deep enough that we couldn't touch the bottom - it was back into our chairs for a final push on the world's hardest crossword.

OMG, we got it!​

High on our success, the last thing I wanted to do was start another one of those damned things, so we skipped rocks and splashed each other until it was time to head back to camp for dinner.

Just before we headed back, a familiar chopper raced by overhead. Hope everyone is OK!​

With temps still in the mid-80s °F, these will dry in no time.​

Unfortunately, my terrible joke of, "I brought hot dogs for me, but I thought you were going to eat fish," landed as parental jokes do on teenagers, and all I got was an eye roll in my general direction as I plopped nearly the entire package of meat fingers and buns onto the grill. Fishing - even when you're not catching - apparently makes one hungry!

Dinner - and a few marshmallows - was a quick affair, leaving us with a couple hours to kill before bedtime. Having learned my lesson the previous evening - about cleaning up while there was still daylight - I set about breaking down the kitchen while @Mini busied herself making a deck of cards so that we wouldn't have to break out those #$@&#! crosswords again.

A paper bag or a deck of cards? Why not both?​

The cards turned out to be fantastic, if a little difficult to shuffle, and as we sat on our knoll overlooking the creek, we played gin as the sun set and the sky turned pink.

Not my photo. ​

Someone else had my camera. :biggrin:​

Eventually - after several rounds of gin and a couple decks of blackjack - it was too dark for those of us with decades-old-eyes to see, and despite the fact that I was assured that there was "plenty of light," we packed up the cards and headed for bed.

The following morning...

Sun's up, kiddo's not.​

With our plan to have breakfast and then pack up to head home, I let the big little one catch a few more Z's while I poked around some of the spots that we tend to visit on each of our forays into this little neck of the woods. It's fun to see how they change over the years, water working its magic to move not only the small stuff, but even large trees, and boulders into new positions between each visit.

Washed clean.​

Pillowy falls.​

Eventually I headed back along the creek to camp where @mini.turbodb waved to me from inside her tent. She was already gathering up her things, ready to get back to civilization and the luxury of her LTE.

As with setup, she nearly single-handedly tore down her tent, getting it done in about the same time it took me to wash dishes from breakfast and get the kitchen and roof top tent stowed on the Tacoma.

A final look upstream.​

After making sure we hadn't forgotten anything, and picking up a bit of trash others had left behind, we climbed into the Tacoma and pointed ourselves home. We'd get there before lunch, another successful trip to our secret camp site in the books!

 

Now if that ain't heartwarming, I don't know what is.

I don't know why it's so enjoyable to waste absurd amounts of time and money in hopes of hooking a slimey morsel of dinner when you can just order doordash and watch reality TV at home... but it sure as hell is a great time, even if you don't catch a thing. I'd guess I blew about 20 hours and $100 between licenses and lost lures on this last trip, and got skunked more often than not. I suppose that works out to $25 and 5 hours of work per fish in this case -- so a smashing success by my standards -- but it was the ones that got away that really made it worthwhile. ("I had a real monster on the line, you have to believe me!")

I've never had luck with Salmon eggs, but I don't have much luck with anything else either. My late uncle, who fished the waters of Oregon religiously for decades, swore by "wedding ring" lures. On a whim we rented a rowboat at Clear Lake a couple years ago pulled up a couple rainbows. Not far from:

Too far to hike but got some footage of it from afar.



Good thing I don't call myself a photographer, but I guess that's the old Whiskey Peak lookout up there ("you have to believe me!")

 

Looks like you are going to be shopping for some new camera gear soon.

 

Great to see mini out there! I was wondering how she's been. Growing up explains her absence.
Great trip report! Thanks so much for sharing!
My heart is fully warmed now

 

A New Perspective on Photography

Change has been great
My journey in photography has closely coincided with my adventures. I picked up my first "real" camera - a Canon 80D - on a whim a year or two before I started exploring, but I never used it until I went on that first trip with a bunch of guys I now call good friends.

At the time, I assured them that my Google Pixel (yeah, the very first version) was just as good as their DSLRs, if not better. Its lack of zoom was a benefit as it required more attention to framing the shot, turning me into a better photographer.

Not four seconds after The De-Tour - when I started processing the photos - I realized two things: (1) just how wrong I was and (2) I'd just picked up two expensive hobbies.

The Canon 80D was a great camera, but I eventually ran it over with the Tacoma, necessitating an evolution in my camera gear. Since then, I've been shooting with a Canon R6, a fantastic system that I've enjoyed immensely.

Probably doesn't work anymore.​

I hate change

There's no denying it - I'm getting older. Sure, there are the little things - injuries take a bit longer to heal, there's more than a bit of gray hair on my body, and I find myself saying things like, "I remember when candy bars used to cost 45¢." But surely the biggest indicator of my age is my resistance to change - a trait that I've called my own since I was twelve.

Anyway, I'm that guy who is constantly looking to fix things that are broken. To make things I've come to love last just a little longer. I'm the guy who found my favorite pants in 1999 and bought enough to last a lifetime. Seriously though, I love my pants. And I've done the same with shorts. And sunglasses. And I should probably stop typing now.

I'm also the guy who keeps writing down stories and publishing "still videos," when everyone else has moved on to InstaTube and TokTics. The guy who goes "car camping" in a vehicle older than his kid. The guy who hasn't tried to score sponsorships to enjoy the outdoors. I can assure you, @mini.turbodb thinks I'm crazy. And old. She assures me that "#" is pronounced "hashtag" and not "pound sign."

It's strange really, given how much I've ended up enjoying the changes that have been forced on me in the photography department.

Obviously, I can change. And I'm here to prove that by taking my photography to a whole new level. Literally.


Waiting for change means no change at all

For a long time, I've wanted a drone. Sort of. I've always liked the idea of flying one - sort of like an adult remote controlled car - but I've also kept my distance given my desire to live life rather than edit videos all day.

Because seriously, processing photos and writing stories takes time, but videos... those take forever.

Anyway, the first drones - the DJI Mavic ones - they were just too big and too expensive, so I never really felt like I was missing anything. Lots of other people probably felt the same way, and eventually the DJI Mini series were released. Those minis were cool - I could see taking one on a hike for some #epic #instalander #pound-sign shots - but I convinced myself that the flight times (around 15-20 minutes), and the relatively small camera sensors, would make them more trouble than they were really worth.

Then, the DJI Air2S came out. As a medium sized drone, it had a bit better battery life and would definitely be more stable in windy conditions than its tiny brethren, but most importantly, it had a great - for the time - camera sensor. I was intrigued for a minute, but life got in the way and nine months later I figured that the Air 2S was last years tech and I'd better just wait for its replacement. Ahh, sweet lack of change.

Turns out that there was no replacement "right around the corner," and it took more than two years for DJI to replace the Air 2S with the DJI Air 3. And when they did, I wasn't as jazzed as I thought I would be.

Yay, no change?


This thing shoots pictures, right?

The thing I liked most about the Air 2S was the large - 1 inch - CMOS sensor capable of shooting 20-megapixel photos. That was unheard of on drones in that size/price range, and I was sure that the successor would be even better - perhaps sporting a micro four thirds sensor at 24-megapixels or more.

The Air 3 however went another route. Rather than increasing the sensor size, it decreased the size of the sensor to 1/1.3 but added a second sensor and lens, sporting the ability to shoot both 24mm and 70mm shots, the latter allowing for fantastic background compression rather than the usual "wide angle" that drones are known for.

Ultimately, that optical zoom - along with two additional years of hardware and software improvements - were enough for me to look at the output of the Air 3 next to the Air 2S and decided that yep, it was time for change!

Look, it hovers!​

After picking up the DJI Air 3 Fly More Kit with the RC-2 Controller, I promptly left it in the box for two weeks so I could "life." This turned out to be a great thing, because in that time I was able to talk to the only other person I know who has a drone - Mike @mk5 - and after drooling over the specs of this flying camera, he shared this sage advice:

I forget what it's called, but it's essentially an insurance program where you can send in your crashed and mangled drone for replacement at little or no cost, within the first year or two. I recommend this not because I think you'll destroy your drone, but because I want you to be able to fly it without being terrified of destroying it.

Buy the insurance, then fly it like it's insured. You'll get better shots.​

Turns out, this "DJI Care Refresh" is only available within the first 48 hours of powering up your little beast, so by postponing the maiden voyage, I could be sure to fly it like I stole it. Or something.

Insurance in hand, I attached the propellers, charged the batteries, and pressed the button for takeoff. Even knowing that there was nothing to worry about - even if something went horribly wrong - it was terrifying. Of course, nothing went wrong, and three minutes later - with the battery at 93% full - I was landing again. I'd taken two photos.

My first photo. Our backyard.​

Our front yard. This guy can really think outside the box.​

Frankly, I was pretty happy with my first flight. The perspective was completely new and different, and while I had no idea what I was doing, I was relieved at how well the "Return to Home" functionality worked. Even if it just returned from the front yard to the back.


First thoughts

#dronelife​

Having not flown the drone much at all - I've now putzed around the neighborhood a bit, constantly nervous that I can't see my expensive little toy as it navigates the airways - I figured it would be good to share my first impressions, since I'll never have them again. Already there are things I love, things I don't really care about, and things I wish were different. I'm sure there will be more as time goes on.

Love

1. The controller is great. I really like the RC-2 controller, with the screen built-in, rather than the controllers that use a phone as a screen. There are a few reasons for this so far - I don't have to worry about my phone battery being charged, I don't have to worry about dropping my phone, and I feel like the entire controller just "feels better" - but I'm sure I'll come up with even more reasons in the future.
2. Battery life. Naturally, the drone doesn't stay airborne for the full 46 minutes that's advertised, but I've already had it up in the air for 30 minutes at one go, and had a few minutes remaining on the battery as it alerted me to critically low battery levels and a need to return to home immediately. That 30 minutes was a long time to be airborne, so right now it feels pretty awesome.
3. Return to Home. This is a lifesaver feature for those of us who have no idea what they are doing. It's super cool to press a button and watch as the drone beelines it for home and then lands perfectly in the spot from which it ascended.
4. The 70mm lens. I was really worried about not liking the cameras, since the sensor was smaller. However, the 70mm lens - effectively a 3x optical zoom when compared to the normal 24mm lens - is amazing. While I don't yet have enough experience to really have an opinion on RAW file quality, the compositions it enables are fabulous, and it's likely to be my main mode of shooting.

I thought two lenses was going to be a gimmick, but I really like the 70mm.​

Whatever / Not sure yet

1. OMG, there is so much to learn about how to fly. I have no idea how to use 80% of the controls at this point.
2. How long it takes batteries to charge. On the one hand, battery life is awesome, but I initially tried to charge the batteries with a standard USB charger - something in the 10W range - and it took a day to charge a single battery. I've now purchased a high-power charger which seems a lot better, so I'll see if this problem is resolved.
3. The noise. I knew the Air 3 wouldn't be quiet, but it is louder than I expected. There's no sneaking up on wildlife or taking candid photos from a distance. I'm not sure if I won't care about this over time, or if I'll feel like it's always intruding on the landscape.
4. Photo quality. I just haven't done enough photo processing to know what I think here yet. Initial impressions are that the photos are great if you don't zoom in too much, but as a device that's hovering and vibrating, things aren't super-sharp when you get down to the pixels.
5. Video anything. I have nothing more to say about this, due to #1.

Yuk

1. The size of the Air 3 itself. At 720g, it's definitely not small. (What the #$@% even is a gram? if we're not talking about illegal street drugs then #$@% grams.) Whatever, let's call it a fat pound-and-a-half with a battery installed. Add the remote and another battery and we're pushing 3 lbs. Not light - about the same as carrying around a second Canon R-series body and large lens.
   
   
   
   I'm going to need a new fanny pack to cart this thing along on hikes.​
   
   
   
   Each of these are the size of a 16oz bottle of soda, but heavier.​
2. The propellers when the Air 3 is folded up for storage. The propellers sort of flop around (they don't store nicely) when the drone is folded up and I feel like I'm more likely to break them in this state than when I'm flying. Unless I'm flying like I bought the insurance.
3. The range. I know I'm in the city and so there's probably lots of interference, but it seems that I can only get about a mile away from our house before I hit the limits of communication. Obviously I wasn't going to get the 12-miles (20km) that were advertised in a situation like this, but I sure hope the range is better when I get out and about with the drone.

Where to from here?

If there's one thing I'm sure about with this new toy, it's that I have a lot to learn. Frankly, it feels much more complicated than learning how to shoot with a real camera instead of my cell phone, but it's probably similar.

I've never been one for playing modern video games - so the two-stick setup of the controller is very foreign to me. Making sure the drone is flying the correct direction (which is up and down and forward and back and side-to-side, while simultaneously rotating the gimbal to point at the subject, all while making sure I'm not about to hit anything or go out of range is daunting to say the least. But hey, thanks to Mike, I bought the insurance!

So, stay tuned. I'll surely have more thoughts as I put this thing through its paces.

 

Finally I can get good aerial footage during my morning dump.

 

Drones are for losers, man!

Also:

Fixed it for you.



Cheers!

I have the perfect early-morning drone footage to offer a witty reply to this one...

But on second thought, I think that might violate work internet policy. And fundamental human decency.

 

Have a look at the Polar Pro line of filters. I think you'll find they really up your game. There are others but these are the brand I picked up.
I also found some "better"props. If you haven't, B4UFly is an app that will help discover where you can/cannot fly. For example, I live in Class B airspace and within the airspace allocated to a hospital helipad--no flying here...

 

Not enough decals on your Loo. Need a trail gear sticker on it to make it legal.

 

First, you'll have to teach me how to do "footage." Right now, I only know how to take a photo, and I have no desire to learn more.

Um, obviously. I have no doubts about my qualifications here.

I'll check out those filters, thanks. This whole "where can you fly" thing is so strange to me. I mean, I get it I suppose, but it seems like such a hassle. Another reason to stick to the camera most of the time, hahaha.

 

Gotta say i appreciate the effort what with it being hand labeled and all, but that's a low grade speed bucket. You gotta outfit that baby properly with some horsepower/clout stickers.

 

Ah, the dreaded "oh god, I killed my camera." While I was filming BMX back in the day, it happened to me twice (once with a VX1000 that got hit by a rear tire while filming a 360 with a fisheye, and once with a FX7 trying to avoid getting hit and inadvertently smacking into something else) and once to a friend's Canon (last clip in this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_weQPoHtbk). I believe that the HMC40 I got after the FX7 got smacked pretty good at some point (after being sold to the guy in the aforementioned clip whose bike went flying), too, but, when I talked to him last year, it was still running.

As far as drones... the lady has an older DJI, she always wants to bring it, but, when she does, it never comes out of its bag. Same deal with her Sony DSLR (E-mount?). I do love using them at work for getting photogrammatry-based topo models, though, and can't wait for our team to get a LIDAR drone in a year or two, so we can work in vegetated areas better.

 

I had a DJI phantom pro 3 for 2 years and thought it was cool but honestly never used it enough to justify owning it and it was so annoying to listen to I never once brought it wheeling.