Lake Tahoe (24 – 25 April 2019)

The principal places we visited in California were in the mountains, but our route from one to another always returned us to the lower, flat land where the fruit is grown. April isn't a major harvesting time of year, although we did see at least one property collecting late citrus fruit. Along other stretches of the highway we were treated to the scent of blossom.  Because there was not much fresh produce most of the roadside stalls were closed. This combined with little advance notice and inadequate parking space for Gregory, our large vehicle, generally foiled our desire to sample local delicacies.

Our chance came when we were waiting to turn right. We could see a large sign advertising “Oranges $1 per bag”. A table behind the sign was loaded with big bags of fruit. We managed to pull off the road and Bill ran across to make the purchase. It was, of course, too good to be true. The $1 bags were on the ground behind the table and only contained 3 small oranges. The big bags of juicy fruit were $8, but that still wasn't a bad deal.

A neighbouring stall offered large boxes of strawberries for $5, which was an even better bargain. We are pleased to confirm that California produces very nice oranges and strawberries.

Another consequence of going up and down in the mountains was that the vibrations in Gregory's steering wheel while we went downhill were getting slightly stronger. We determined to consult a mechanic.

Driving from Yosemite towards Lake Tahoe we passed a sign informing us that we were entering Calaveras County. Those familiar with Mark Twain's writing will recognise that name from his short story, The Notorious Jumping Frog of Calaveras County. Our route took us through Angels Camp, not a large town but the only incorporated city in the county, where the association with Mark Twain is referred to a number of times. It has a visitor center where we stopped, briefly discussed the moral characters of the main Jumping Frog protagonists and asked where we could get repairs for Gregory.

We did find a mechanic, who diagnosed broken or distorted brake rotors. Unfortunately he could not work on them for several days. Angels Camp seemed pleasant, but there was nothing terribly exciting to do or see there. The mechanic promised us that nothing awful was likely to happen and the brakes would continue to function adequately for a while yet. So we moved on.

The terrain did not become particularly mountainous as we drove North, but we steadily gained altitude until we were above the snow line once more.

We don't think there had been any recent snowfalls. We didn't see any slush on the tarmac and the snow ploughs were unemployed.

Sierra scenery.

Although the roads were nice and clear, the places off the road where we were hoping to spend the night were still under snow and often gated shut. It looked as though we would have to push on to South Lake Tahoe, when we drove past a cleared space beside the road. It turned out to be a parking lot for hunters and fishermen and even had a primitive toilet block. There were no signs forbidding overnight parking, so we had a place to stay.

The parking area had been very deliberately cleared of snow.

Later that evening two motor bikes turned into our haven. Cops? Are we not allowed to park here? Then a cheerful voice, “They're Canadians.” The speaker had seen Gregory's British Columbian license plate. Both cyclists were properly Canadian and, as we had been earlier, looking for a campsite. We had a friendly chat, and then our new neighbours pitched their tent on a level-ish patch of snow. It would have been an invitation to hypothermia in a regular tent, but Canadians have had lots of experience of dealing with cold and snow.

South Lake Tahoe looked like a large enough town to have a brakes repairer, and after a few enquiries we located one that could address the problem “tomorrow”.

We looked up local campgrounds. Horror – the commercial campground truly wanted $150 per night. But there are several state parks in the region. They will have more reasonable tariffs. Indeed they do – when they are open. According to Wikipedia, Lake Tahoe is at an altitude of 6,225 ft (1,897 m) and the surrounding sierras were still mostly covered in snow. So the campgrounds were mostly covered in snow and therefore closed. There was one that appeared to be open, but the Internet intelligence was misleading. The campground 'office' was in the adjacent hotel, where we could get a room for $90. That's better than $150.

Sierra Nevada slopes adjacent to Lake Tahoe.

Secure in the knowledge that we would have somewhere for the night we drove a leisurely circuit of the lake. In his travel writings, Mark Twain admires the beauty of Alpine lakes, but asserts that none of them is as delightful as Lake Tahoe. We won't get into an international row over which is the world's prettiest lake, but Lake Tahoe has to be amongst the leaders.

At one of our stops along the way we noticed this mobile notice board:

Would you put your hand under the cover to filch something from this vehicle?

During the day we did more research on accommodation options and finally settled on the Motel 6 in South Lake Tahoe for $47. Motel 6 is a nationwide chain or franchise of inexpensive motels. We were unsure whether there would be room to park our big motor home, but this establishment had lots of space. The unit was clean and comfortable, and of course we did not have to walk across a campground to get to the shower. There were no cooking facilities in the unit, and since we were splurging on accommodation we splurged on our evening meal as well and went to a nearby Mexican Restaurant.

Next morning we dropped off Gregory at the workshop and set off to spend a day seeking amusement in South Lake Tahoe. We found a T-Mobile shop and were able to reconnect our tablet to cyberspace. The workings of T-Mobile's on-line plan renewal had utterly defeated us. We successfully negotiated the local bus service. For we seniors it was only $1 per ride. We admired the lake again, from its Southern end:

The local library provided free Internet and whispered conversation with a most interesting lady.

We were interrupted at one point by the mechanic, who required us to authorise replacement of the calipers as well as the rotors.

At the end of the day the repair cost us more than $1,000, but at least we could be certain that our brakes were in tip top order.

For no extra charge Bill got a stern lecture on how to drive on mountain roads. He had generally been using low gear if there was a 'steep hill' sign, but otherwise driving Gregory in the same way as a car. This was BAD. Always control downhill speed with the gears, and if cars form a queue behind us because we are travelling at only 25mph, well that's too bad. Ford got a bad review for the design of the brakes as well.

The lesson was learned, and the rest of the trip was driven with much more care on downhill roads.

Yosemite (21 & 22 April 2019)

On towards Yosemite and a problem. Where to stay? Our app had no suggestions of free campsites. The options in the park itself are expensive – and fill up very quickly. We asked at the Visitor Information in Oakhurst. The news was not good. The campgrounds were full and freedom campers received tickets from the local cops. “You could try High Sierra. They might not be full.” The lady obligingly picked up the 'phone and made the enquiry for us. Yes, they had one site. We'd better be quick.

“Why are all the campgrounds so full this early in the year?” “It's a holiday weekend. Easter.” Doh. Travelling all the time we even lose track of which day of the week it is and hadn't given a thought to holidays.

We were in time to secure the last site at the High Sierra RV Park, and they also had one for the next night. Whew. It was a pleasant campground and the ladies in the office were charming.

When you, the reader, are planning a visit to Yosemite you will do well to avoid Easter. Especially if the weather is fine. The valley was very crowded and nearly all the license plates were from California. The locals were out in force.

To get into the valley we had to drive through a long tunnel. There was enough space in the centre, but Bill was a bit nervous about scraping our roof if we moved too far towards the edge. However, we went through every time without incident.

Just beyond the tunnel there is a viewing area with large parking lots, but they weren't large enough at Easter. Luckily the road was wide enough for parallel parking and someone left at just the right moment to leave a space large enough for us. We walked back to see what the attraction was.

Our first view of the valley. Bridalveil Fall is in the centre of the picture.

A close up of the fall.

There was only one parking lot available to RVs in the centre of the valley. It was about three-quarters of the way round the extensive one-way system. There were no signs directing us to specific RV spaces, so we carefully backed into a vacancy next to another RV. At least there was enough room for other vehicles to get past. As we walked to a shuttle stop we espied a long row of huge parking spaces. A few of them were occupied by buses, but that looked like a better place.

The Yosemite Valley lies between two lines of very imposing mountains and boasts some very tall waterfalls. Unfortunately the names of the individual rocks and cascades have not taken firm root in our memories so we haven't labelled many of the photographs. Just enjoy the beauty of the valley.

Mirror lake. As you can see there is a clear reflection in the water. But the classic view is from the other side of the lake. It was a long walk to the nearest bridge and back up the other side of the river. We didn't bother.  This was gorgeous enough.

We allowed ourselves two days, but for those who are fit there are many days' worth of hiking trails in the park. There are some steep climbs amongst the network. It would pay to study carefully any proposed route.

For the second day we grabbed one of the really big parking spaces, amongst the buses. There is a good shuttle service around the paved roads, with a stop adjacent to the parking lot. Getting around was not a problem.

One of the shuttle buses. Note that it is a hybrid vehicle. The National Park Service certainly does its bit for the environment. It provides recycling bins in every park, and even sometimes compost bins for your food scraps.

On day 2 one of our buses found a truck/trailer unit stopped in an intersection. It was an extra long trailer and the driver had not taken the turn wide enough. Was there enough room to get through? The driver inched forward staring intently at the obstacle and his mirrors. Stop. Check mirrors again. Pull very slowly forward, and crunch! The horrible sound of metal buckling as the rear door scraped against a tree. We felt sorry for the driver because he had taken such care but still misjudged the lines.

This is a Common Raven, probably assessing us for the likelihood of  a handout.  There were more colourful birds in the park but they absolutely refused to pose nicely.  The Steller's Jays would hide their intense blue plumage in the deepest shadow, or perch with the sun highlighting the blue on their backs but with their head behind another branch.  The Brown-headed Cowbirds showed off their glossy feathers but only with their tails towards the lens.

Evening shadows come early in such a deep valley.

Looking up the Merced River valley back towards Yosemite after we had left the park.

After two nights in a paid campground and two days amongst crowds of people we spent the next night in solitude in the Stanislaus National Forest, where there are no facilities but free camping is permitted along Hardin Flat Road.

Big Sequoias (18 – 19 April 2019)

As mentioned in the last post, our first night in California was with Boondockers Welcome hosts. Their assistance extended to directing us to a vendor of LPG (liquified petroleum gas), which we used for cooking and heating. The labelling on the vehicle says “LPG”, but throughout North America it is generally called “propane”. In Canada it is sold by most gas stations, but in the United States they rarely do the same. On this occasion it was a hardware store that had a large propane tank in the yard. The store also had a U-Haul franchise and we had to wait a long time while a couple went through the intricacies of renting a small truck.

Never mind, we were not in a tearing hurry. We aimed to spend the night near the Sequoia National Park and see the big trees the following morning. We scorned Google Maps' quickest route and followed highways 178, 155 and 65 instead.

Some of the mountains were washed with the colour of desert daisies.

A closer view.

A single plant.

The Yuccas looked green from a distance, but they were in full bloom, displaying their cream-coloured flower clusters.

The first section of our route skirting the Sierra Nevada was very hilly, and Gregory's steering wheel began to judder on the downhill stretches. The brakes still slowed us down as effectively as usual, but it was a bit uncomfortable.

There were no shakes as we drove along the flat land through Porterville and Exeter, where we turned right onto highway 198. The countryside was mostly orchards and, although it was not really harvest season there were occasional roadside stalls offering fresh produce. Annoyingly, they seldom gave advance notice of their presence and generally had insufficient space for us to pull off the road. We bought no local delicacies that day.

The last settlement before Sequoia National Park is Three Rivers, where we squashed into a nearly full campground. No cooking for Eve that evening, though. We dined out. Well, it was our 7^thwedding anniversary and we were celebrating.

The next morning we presented our pass to the ranger at the park entrance. She had important news for us. We could access a little of the park, but the road to the biggest trees was not advised for vehicles over 22 feet. As the ranger described the road, we quickly became convinced that we didn't want to drive it even if Gregory wasn't 6 feet beyond the maximum. “But you'll see big sequoias today.” She gave us directions back towards Exeter and around to a more northerly entrance to the park.

Near the Three Rivers entrance, after we had turned around.

If you know what this costume is advertising, please leave a comment. Pity the poor 'actor'. It must be fiendishly hot in that suit.

Although it was very warm at low altitudes, there was plenty of snow still on the ground as we went higher.

The most accessible of the really big trees was the General Grant Grove. There wasn't much parking for RVs, but we found sufficient space and so did the tour bus that arrived a few minutes later. There is a pleasant loop trail that takes the visitor past General Grant and several other huge trees.

You don't have to leave the parking lot to see big trees.

The General Grant tree is estimated to be 1,650 years old.

A sequoia cone.

They all started off as seedlings.

A fallen tree can lie there for hundreds of years as it gradually becomes compost for succeeding generations.

Hard by the General Grant tree itself we saw movement in the undergrowth. A few Black-tailed (or Mule) Deer were looking for food. They must be used to humans because they came close and seemed quite unconcerned. As we watched the deer the tour group advanced noisily. It was a school outing, with a particularly raucous youth marching beside the leading teacher. (There's always one, isn't there?) Eve caught the hooligan's eye, placed one finger against her lips and pointed to the deer with her other hand. The effect was magical. The entire group became silent and watched the wildlife in happy wonder. The teacher beamed.

The nearer deer was only about 10 feet away. You may have to look carefully to see the one in the background.

Further round the loop trail, with the school party nowhere to be seen, we came upon a larger herd, equally casual about our presence.

Probably one of last year's fawns with its mother. Awwww. :-)

We explored what we could of the park before it got too late.

Our campsites app drew us to a free campsite just outside the park, with excellent reviews. It was called, “Behind the Rocks”. Not being an organised, formal campground it was not signposted and was actually quite difficult to locate. Bill got out and walked in when we found the rocks, because it looked a bit tight. It wasn't spacious, but behind the rocks there were level places to park. Between them, mind you, the ground was very uneven. It was out of sight from the road and very quiet. The one RV already there had naturally grabbed the easiest site.

A tight fit for Gregory amongst the bushes.

A manzanita (Arctostaphylos sp) with reddish bark …

... and lots of flowers.

The blossoms on a different kind of bush.