We arrived at Ennis Riffle, which is a huge gravel bar next to the Rogue River late Friday afternoon. We’ve camped here before a few times, but never with this rig. To our surprise, there was no one else there. This is an undeveloped area that allows dispersed camping and is “operated” by Josephine County parks. In the past, there was a porta-potty and a trash can or two. We recall there being a campground host as well. Not this time. Since we had a pretty good idea of the conditions we’d be facing, as soon as we got down off the steep driveway onto some hard packed gravel, we got out to explore on foot, deciding where we might set up, 
so that we didn’t stray into deep, loose gravel or sand. A very lovely sandy beach with an unobstructed view of the river was right next to an almost level path that had obviously seen quite a bit of vehicle usage. Set up went without incident, and what had been planned as an overnight grew into two. For the first time in months, Laura took time to read for pleasure. We spent hours just sitting by (or in) the river. Low chairs, given to us by Brian and Liz while they were cleaning out their garage in Lyons, Colorado were just the perfect thing. No matter how hot the day was, you could control your comfort by moving a little more in or out of the water. No cell signal here, but the satellite dish served us well, providing access to the internet. Some of our best times have been in places just like this.
We considered staying longer, but staying longer here meant that we would have less time on the Klamath, another long-time favorite spot to be one with the water. After a fine Sunday brunch of bacon, eggs, English muffins and orange juice (if I’d thought to pick up champagne, it could have been mimosas…), we packed it up. Getting out didn’t turn out to be quite as easy as getting in. We had to climb up from our riverside site through some loose rock to get onto compacted rock, in order to turn around and get back to the road. Once again, the decision to have 4-wheel drive was validated. As soon as we returned to I-5, we noticed the air quality. Visibility was significantly reduced, especially noticeable as we drove through Grants Pass. It stayed that way the rest of the way through Southern Oregon and as we crossed into Northern California. Months of wildfires burning in numerous places are keeping a brown tint in the air.
Back in the late ‘80’s and early ‘90’s, Sarah Totten Campground outside of Hamburg, CA was the base camp for kayaking trips for novice boaters that we led down this section of river. Long after we stopped bringing others here, we continued to visit when we could. A combination of cooler night time temperatures, hot afternoons, 72 degree water, an area of swimmable river with “Jacuzzi rocks”, wildlife viewing, and very fond memories kept us coming back. Of all of the places that we’ve spent time, Sarah Totten had been the best place to disconnect from the stresses and worries of day-to-day life. No cell, no internet, no TV, no radio. Just the soothing background sound of water washing over a gravel bar, interrupted from time to time by logging trucks engaging their “jake brake” as they go by. Driving in along Highway 96, we noticed that the river seemed “bony” (meaning that the water appeared shallow and more rocks than normal were exposed) and there was visible algae growth that we had never seen before. Arriving at the campground, we found “our spot” taken by someone else. This was a place we expected to have to ourselves, pulling in Sunday afternoon past Labor Day. Not this time. In addition to the nice people in “our” site, there was also a class “A” motorhome in this loop of 11 sites. Not exactly crowded by California standards, but not the secluded getaway that we’d hoped for.
After getting settled, we put on our suits and headed down to pay homage to the river. Our swimming beach was gone. The area where Laura and Jennifer had done yoga at the river’s edge had been washed away, and now the shallow water was filled with excess plant growth and algae. We decided to take a detour back to the trailer before exploring further. We were joined instantly by the guy from the class “A”. He wanted to make sure that we were aware of the toxic blue-green algae bloom in the river. We hadn’t seen the sign posted on the campground bulletin board. Reading the official posting only added to our sense of loss. We felt as if a dear friend had died and knew that we wouldn’t be staying beyond the next morning. Being at the Klamath but unable to touch the water was too painful to endure. We crawled into the trailer, had a drink, and distracted ourselves with a movie we’d purchased earlier in the day. Broken-hearted, we bid Sarah Totten farewell.
We left the Klamath on Monday, with a scheduled service appointment less than 150 miles away in Redding on Wednesday. We stopped for fuel in Weed. We had been dreading California prices. Much to our surprise, diesel was $4.05! 14 cents a gallon cheaper than premium gasoline!
As we neared Lake Shasta, we began our search for a pleasant place to stay, convenient enough to Redding to make an early drop off at the service facility reasonable. We’d often noticed Castle Crags State Park as we drove through the area, with its dramatic spires towering above the highway. Let’s check it out. It might have been better for us to read the whiteboard at the entrance a little closer before driving through. They accept trailers up to 21 feet. Ours is 25 feet. Now we understand why they don’t accept anything longer. Life IS an adventure. We made through one loop of the campground without mishap… let’s just say that some of the corners were a bit snug for our size rig. Next, we got off to look at a campground featuring sites overlooking the lake. Never in all the years we’ve passed through have we seen such a bathtub ring. Entire arms of the lake were dry as a bone. We made our way all the way into Redding and located the dealer, stopping in to replace the drain line that disappeared somewhere along the highway. Asking for a recommendation for a place to park, we took their advice and ended up at Mountain Gate RV Park. Right next to the highway, they do a booming business. Not the usual place that we’d choose, but it served us well. It was great having full hookups (for the first time since leaving Rockport the first part of July), a swimming pool, and a fenced dog yard.
After the dealership replaced the dip tube in our fresh water tank (we hadn’t been able to access about the last 20 gallons, so we’d been hauling around a lot of weight for nothing), we made our way to the last stop before completing the first loop of our Journey: Brannon Island State Recreation Area. In addition to construction projects on highway 12, they had also installed pylons between the lanes, in order to reduce the number of head-on collisions. The result was feeling like we were riding on “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride” at Disneyland, with a twisty, windy road, VERY narrow lanes with concrete barriers on the right and everybody trying to exceed the speed limit. 
We’d only stayed in the Delta during the spring and it had always been lush and green. This time it held little magic for us. It was as brown and dry as the rest of Northern California. We did have a “small world” experience while we were there… a man with three Mexican Hairless dogs that we had met at Tecopa Hot Springs on our way out of California was also camped there. Because they have no hair, and are used to living in the desert, he had them dressed in small children’s pajamas. He didn’t recognize us, but he, and his three dogs, are rather memorable. Pebbles, the 17-year-old, had been rescued from Mexico and given to him by Bonnie Raitt. Laura passed on a dog coat that we’d inherited from Nicole months earlier. The next day, one of the dogs looked very proud in that coat, which none of our dogs could, or would, wear.
Saturday morning came and it was time to move again. We had mixed feelings. What would we find back in Santa Cruz? What would it be like to stay in the same place for months, rather than days?
