Tuesday, August 20
I clean the BLT and write a blog post in the morning. Most of the afternoon is consumed by our daily trip to get internet signal, putting the blog together for the day, and doing other online stuff.
Later, while sitting in the camp chair on the riverbank peeling potatoes, two otters – first one, then the other — stick their heads up out of the water, look me over, and disappear into the river.
I’d take a drive to the area where he said he might move, but it’s a confusing maze of narrow, rutted, rocky, unpaved roads. I probably wouldn’t find him. And maybe he’ll show up here.
Wednesday, August 21
I’m in the BLT writing a blog post on my laptop.
“Hello? Hello, Sue?” I run outside. It’s Danny!
“Well, hello, Danny! I was hoping you’d stop by.”
“Yeah, I came by the other day but you weren’t here.”
We talk a few minutes and the subject of the Clingers comes up.
“The other two left, but the people in the big rig are still there.” He pauses. “You know what they did?” Danny shakes his head in disgust. “They ran their generator all night. Then the next morning . . . the generator still running . . . they tell me they’re going to be gone for the day and would I watch their stuff for them. I told them, no, I’m not going to watch your stuff. I’m going somewhere myself.”
“Oh, so that’s why they crowded up next to you. So you could babysit their stuff.”
“They leave. The generator runs all morning. I guess they left their dog inside. I go to town. I’m gone about three hours. When I come back, they’re still gone and the generator is still running. That’s when I packed up and moved.”
“Gee, I’m sorry you were run out of that beautiful spot.”
We then had a good laugh over techniques against clingers (This is before I read readers’ suggestions in comments.). We decide that yellow crime scene tape wrapped completely around the campsite would work!
You call yourself rat terriers?
My habit, while at Tieton River Camp, is to write the blog offline at camp, and then post it and photos when we find internet signal up the road.
Another habit I have is to leave the BLT’s door open so Bridget and Spike can come and go as they please without me having to stop writing to serve as their doorperson.
Well, I’m sitting on the bed at the little table at the back of the BLT, writing an entry for this blog. Spike is on the bed, too, between me and the back wall. Bridget is also on the bed, on the other side of me.
I kick off my shoes, leaving my socks on.
A bag of kibble is tucked under the table next to my feet.
I’m typing away, totally engrossed in writing the next exciting episode of “RVSue and her canine crew.”
I must have wiggled my toes because I feel something run over both my feet. “Acckk!”
Whatever it is scurries around the refrigerator on its way out the door. All I see is a flash. Momentarily I sit in shock, looking from the kibble bag to the exit route of the rodent and back again.
I don’t believe this.
The little creature, probably a chipmunk, sits at my feet packing kibble into its cheeks while Bridget and Spike snooze less than three feet away. These two slackers don’t deserve the title of rat terrier!
What is it about peaches?
If you buy a lot of them, they invariably are tasteless, refusing to ripen properly. They go from hard-as-rocks to brown mush, completely skipping the edible stage.
However, if you’re timid, having been burned so many times before, and buy only a few, then they turn out to be incredibly luscious and sweet.
The three peaches I brought back to camp from Naches are the latter kind. You can’t bite into one without juice dripping down your chin. I’m thinking of driving thirty miles (one way) to get more!
The Incident Of The Big Dogs
Usually the crew and I walk the path along the river. This late afternoon, to mix things up a bit, we walk down the forest road. We’ve already eaten an early supper. A brisk walk is in order. Less than a quarter-mile we approach another river campsite. Some people are sitting outside. Immediately four or five – I never did get an exact count – very large dogs come bounding out to the road.
They surround us!
They’re in constant motion making it difficult to keep them in the frame for a photo. Spike runs off the road and is stopped by one of the dogs for a sniff.
A lady runs toward us.
“I’m so sorry!” she exclaims in between commands to the dogs to get back where they belong. I look around for Spike, and then I have to laugh. He’s trotting down the road back to our camp!
What makes me laugh is he never pauses and never looks back the whole way. That boy is outta’ here! (If you enlarge the photo by tapping the ctrl key and the + key simultaneously, you might see the speck at the end of the road that is Spike.)
Actually, Spike had good reason to take off.
These dogs look just like the one that took a bite out of his behind at Willard Springs, Arizona, during early May, 2012.
When the Bridge and I get back to our camp, Spike is waiting for us under the BLT.
The Tieton River rises.
Every day the river level goes up. The photo below was taken a few days ago. If Spike were to stand in the same spot now, he’d have water up to his knees.
We need to vacate our Tieton River Camp on Thursday. The campsite, along with all the others along this stretch, are reserved for commercial float outfitters and their customers.
I hope you’ll remember to use my links when you shop Amazon.