Finding Waldo

Thursday we went down the hill to Pleasant Hill for dinner at the Sunrise Café, meeting Janice’s cousin Ron and his wife Judie. Surprisingly good food (lobster raviolis) for a hole-in-the-wall joint along Highway 58. A little thin on ambiance—fluorescent lights overhead and a few flies buzzing about. We were out of there shortly after 8:00 when they began rolling up the sidewalk.

Today’s great adventure began with a haircut—always a risk on the road. The barberess advised me that she once cut rocker Curt Cobain’s hair, along with “all the other rockers in Seattle.” She was now the head scalper in Oakridge. And speaking of scalping, when she asked “How short do you want it, bub?”, I replied, “I’m on the road, so I’d like this one to last a while.” Judging from the results, a “while” hereabouts might last me until we return home in October!

Following my shearing, we headed east on Highway 58, in search of Waldo---Waldo Lake that is. This had been the intended destination of an overland snow-trail hike a little over a year ago, when our dog Carly stumbled into an energy-field vortex and inexplicably took off running hucklety-buck through the woods while Janice and I hysterically yelled for her to “Come, Carly”, despite the fact that she was stone deaf. She eventually returned, but never did find Waldo---Lake. That was her last major hike as she became a doggie geriatric soon thereafter.

Well, we did find Waldo Lake, with intentions of a nice hike and lunch along the shoreline. As the forest service maven explained to us, there had been record snowfall at the lake (6000 ft) and the campgrounds were not being opened until next week. Too many downed trees, etc. One of the other by-products of record snowfall was a bumper crop of mosquitoes, who have been enjoying a breeding frenzy in the little pondlets left by the melting snow. We slathered up with repellent, but we soon discovered that the Waldo Lake mosquitoes regarded repellent as a marinade sauce. Our intended lunch along a tree-lined shore was abandoned in favor of a rock jetty where a breeze off the lake kept the critters at bay.
After lunch, we relaxed, reading and (Janice) snoozing. The hike was delayed until our return drive when we stooped at Salt Creek Falls, one of Oregon’s finest cataracts.


For those who might be interested in my golfing exploits, I have yet to record a scored round at the Circle Bar course, instead using this former cow pasture for practice, since the closest driving range is 40 miles away.