It furthers one to cross the great waters

I stood on a bluff over-looking the entire ocean, without anything to break the view, ran the dogs, leaped back into the bag – the step is tall – and drove through a rainy day toward Sacramento – hopefully the rain washed the salt off the bago. All of Mendocino is dedicated to wine – every junk yard tourist stop is a front for a winery. It’s pretty. I could have driven this whole coast drunk. Instead I filled my water tank with Mendocino water and am hoping it tastes like wine.
The coastline on the very northern beach of California – Lost Coast – looks like a great place to return to. I couldn’t drive a rig down the narrow road –The curvy road to fort Bragg is impressive. I’m going to have to train Anna to carry a food pack – Ha. I think it would be totally wild for several miles – beautiful.
Jane Bailey and I both remember the time we hiked the Olympic Peninsula – in the 70s, out of Seattle to the coast—something like 20 miles. It was wild –great hiking on the sand and over rocks. I remember the enormous size of the driftwood logs on the beaches – I saw some of that in Alaska. Jane wrote a poem about the red deer we saw swimming in the surf.
Between Williams and Yuba City are some huge water reservoirs and one large wetlands preserve. I’m starting to see thousands of ducks and geese. Twice, once in OR and then in Mendocino I’ve seen small flocks of red knots. They aren’t common anymore. Two big vultures, ravens, and hundreds of gulls in a flock worried some kind of gut pile, probably a seal. A Peregrine floated over my head. I found a plastic like substance in the shape of a skull – a costume face for a Harry Potter movie -- found a newly washed up abalone shell; the abalone had turned to pink plastic.
Out onto the big agricultural vegetable capital of the united states. This is the first time I’ve seen it after harvest: the fields are newly tilled -- no Mexican pickers covered in towels and shirts against the poisons, no spray planes, no plastic gassing shields, definitely not hot, but very windy. Wherever there are grapes – the yellowed leaves hang on the vines – all in straight rows – huge fields. I stand in awe of the work that goes on here –the sheer amount of food that is raised here -- for miles down the state.
I’m plugged in along the Sacramento River. Thousands of ducks flew into the area during sunset – wave after wave of mewling ducks. Tomorrow is a myth – no plan bears fruit; it’s more like shaking the tree and watching for what falls out.