Showing posts with label cabin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cabin. Show all posts

December 13, 2014

Jasper the lurcher


Dropped in for a much-needed blog renovation, and to post what is possibly the best photo in the history of the universe :~) That would be Jasper, above (click to embiggen), at cruising speed after running off some early morning energy up at the cabin. Thank you, iPhone video and the most excellent Video 2 Photo app!

How about those rainstorms? Fire danger much allayed this year, thank heavens. (In related news, the blog's new background photo is a shot of Big Bear Lake from the Arctic Circle. OUR Arctic Circle.)

The tabs up top need fixing, and vacation is just around the corner, so that worked out nicely. And more rain is expected this week...! Dogs are well, birds are plentiful, plants are happy, and frogs and coyotes are singing in the arroyo every night. Life, she is good.

March 25, 2011

This most inconsolable of sorrows


Bounce at the cabin, looking for the bobcat. August 2009.

She's gone. My good girl, best, dearest, friendliest, happiest, smartest, kindest. She had the biggest and most joyful personality. All heart. All good.

Found out last fall that she would not, in fact, live forever, but I kept hoping. It's impossible that she's gone. Dear, brave, noble to the end.

Went to the shelter later, looked at the run where I first saw her 13 years ago. Everyone who knew her, loved her.

I can't believe she's gone.

I hope to heaven Julie Zickefoose can forgive me for repeating this, since it comes from a post honoring the memory of a human loved one, but I'll say it anyway: "Death is undone by love." I love you, Bounce.

September 6, 2010

Walla, trois de la fourrière [translation: it's a Costco dog bed!]

Yes, it's hard for the dogs to stay put, what with the fun-house floors and all. They keep me awake all night with their rolling from one end of the cabin to the other [sigh].

Walla, I'll have y'all know, is not just an Indian suffix indicating a person involved in some kind of activity, or half the name of a county seat in the northwest. No, readers, "walla" is a loan word, and this most excellent spelling was invented by a west coast rancher and sheepdogger. He was headed to Canada to judge a trial in 2002:
For me it started getting on the plane from San Francisco, California, USA. I knew it was going to be a challenge because my passport hadn't come in and the officials said I needed 2 federal picture I.D.'s. After all the hoopla and dance the official asked if I had a Costco Card with my picture on it and walla, I had it and on we go. [From Sheepdog-L.]

Can't see that happening in today's police state land o' the free, now, can we?

But anyhow. I can't think of Costco these days without 1) saying Walla! to myself, or 2) thinking of cheap dog-beds. Huge, cheap dog-beds. Bounce was sleeping on one of them this morning, and then Smoke curled up next to her, and then the landshark came diving in for some Smoke-wuv, and there I was trying to aim over my shoulder with the little point 'n' shoot. Good times, good times ;~)

September 5, 2010

[heart]


My best girl ever takes a snooze at the cabin. Labor Day weekend, 2010.

August 15, 2010

Home range




In the San Bernardino Mountains, looking north towards Big Bear Lake from the high country along Forest Road 2N10. Click photos to embiggen.

The San Bernardino Mountains of Southern California are a transverse range, which means they run east-west, unlike most mountain ranges in North America. If I remember correctly, California has the only transverse ranges in the nation. Geology is hella hecka interesting in these parts. Thank you, tectonic plates! The east end of Big Bear Valley is lower in elevation, hotter and drier — Mojave Desert to the east, Sonoran Desert to the south — but the west is green and high and wonderful.

If you're feeling adventurous you can reach Big Bear Lake from the south via Forest Road 1N54: Clark's Grade. Back in the early 1900s this dirt track was the main road to the lake, and visitors generally traveled in the motorized stages operated by White's Mountain Auto Line. My mother's father drove a stage for the Mountain Auto Line every summer while he was a student at USC. I'm looking at his badges right now, along with a photo of Grandpa and his fellow drivers in front of the Freight & Passenger Station at Big Bear Lake. "Registered Chauffeur": 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919. It was in 1919 that my great-grandmother got the lot lease for the cabin.

Clark's Grade was [is] a series of dusty switchbacks, and it must have been an experience to drive up the Grade in an open stage. The descent from Clark's Summit [elevation 8000'] into Big Bear Valley is beautiful. Bluff Lake and Metcalf Meadows are as lovely today as they must have looked to visitors escaping the inland valley heat back in 1916. [Speaking of which: 99F down the hill today — 79F at the cabin.] The stages used to rumble down Mill Creek Road [below our cabin] and pass through the toll gate at Oak Knoll Lodge, and then they'd roll on a few more miles to the other lodges and hotels by the lake.

Nowadays the main roads to Big Bear are City Creek [Highway 330] and Highways 18 and 38. Clark's Grade, the toll gates and the old dirt roads are ancient history. Those roads belong to mountain bikers now, and to high-clearance vehicles like my trusty Ford pickup. On a recent drive to Bluff Lake [it's two/three miles from the cabin] and then east for seven miles to Moonridge via 2N10, we saw maybe a dozen mountain bikers, and just three or four motor vehicles.


A marshy meadow at the east end of Bluff Lake.


Ferns along the north shore. I was birding here in early June [a month before these photos were taken] and there were no ferns in sight — just pine needles and scattered banks of snow.


From the gallery of Unfortunate Family Photos: my sis holds a confab with Lily the Pug at one of the forest's countless boulder formations.


Bluff Lake, with mallards.


I know what you're thinking: this rock would look better with a pug.


And walla, as we say here in California. Much better.


Home, sweet home: old cabin on the north shore of Bluff Lake. From left: Grayling the border collie [who turned eleven in July], my beautiful sis, and the always photogenic Princess LilyPug.

Adventure is her middle name

Danger Pug takes care of navigation as we prowl the forest roads.



The cuteness: my favorite nuthatch


More from the cabin deck. Pygmy Nuthatch photographed by Dianna of L.A. Audubon.

A good dad: Purple Finch and fledgling




Purple Finch dads totally rock :~) More photos by Dianna of L.A. Audubon, with a curiously colored Purple Finch added for good measure.




What but fear winged the birds...?

Been summering, off and on, at the family cabin in the San Bernardino National Forest near Big Bear Lake. A most excellent group from L.A. Audubon spent some time on the cabin deck a few weeks ago, and photographer Dianna took this great shot [click to embiggen] of a Cooper's Hawk:

Pine Siskins, beware!



[Jeffers: The Bloody Sire.]

August 5, 2010

Smoke









He'll be two in September. Photos from the last few evenings here in God's country, the San Bernardino National Forest near Big Bear Lake.

March 18, 2010

I knew Bill Koehler. Bill Koehler was a friend of mine.

All-time closest-to-my-heart dog movie, and not just because they filmed the mountain lion scenes near our cabin and Dad took us to watch. Also, check out the spray-painted forest floor as the continuity people try to make SoCal's San Bernardino National Forest look like green Quebec. I LOVE THIS MOVIE SO MUCH. Awesome Irish Setters trained by, who else, William Koehler. Click to embiggen.

I'm lying. I did know Bill Koehler, and I admired and respected him, but I was eleven years old when I took my beagle to his Novice Obedience class, so it wasn't like we were friends or anything. I like to imagine, though, that if you'd asked him years later about a kid and a beagle in some class back in the day, he would have said, "I remember them. They got a passing score, didn't they?"

"No agnostic ever burned anyone at the stake." [Daniel J. Boorstin]


We did. Like most Koehler grads, that beagle and I could have walked into a Novice ring the day after obedience class ended and walked out with a qualifying score. Her spirit was not damaged by Koehler obedience. She was a spoiled, fat, happy little hound, as smart as any dog I've known, a beloved family member, an eager hunter, a champ at stealing food she couldn't get by begging, and the Koehler method, at least as it was applied by an eleven year old, didn't change any of that. The class made us both a lot smarter, and a lot closer. I loved it.

I think Bill Koehler was a genius with dogs. He taught every session of the class and worked with every type of dog and every type of handler under the sun. I saw no dogs ruined, no spirits broken, no "learned helplessness" — and I was an observant, kind-hearted youngster. I got the impression that Bill Koehler respected the intelligence and the character of each dog he worked with, and he wanted us to do the same.

*************

"But... but... that thing he did!" Well, yeah. My second dog I trained at home so I wouldn't have to pitch a throw-chain in her general direction. But I took her to a Koehler class after that, and we had fun and she did great.

"But... what about that other thing?" I found something that worked a lot better. Not everything Bill Koehler advocated was right for me and my dogs.

*************

A friend who shows her dogs in AKC obedience overheard the following exchange at ringside at a recent show, where one poorly-trained Novice dog after another was coming to grief:

"What has happened to Novice? The dogs used to do so much better than this."

"Well, yeah! They used to be trained by the Koehler method."

*************

I used a clicker to train my pit bull Bounce [who had no interest whatsoever in retrieving toys or tennis balls] to fetch. After two sessions of maybe fifteen minutes each, two evenings in a row, she would fly to pick up a wooden dumbbell and return it to my hand. If I remember right, I used broken-up pieces of potato chips for treats. Huge fun, clickers.

On the other hand, anyone who says you can train a working border collie to work livestock using a clicker is talking out of his elbow. It simply can't be done with a clicker, for a host of reasons, and anyone who says it can has never gotten a dog around a USBCHA Open course. There are aversives in stockdog training. Sometimes there are rather strong aversives. And there are no food treats, ever — the dog wouldn't take them if you offered. I'm sure you can use a clicker to teach a dog to be obedient around stock, but obedience on stock is for conformation-bred dogs and AKC trials, not for Zamora.

*************

Ian Dunbar says that a puppy should meet 100 friendly people of every size, age, appearance and ethnicity by the time the pup is three months old. I think this is possibly the greatest advice you can give to the owner of a new puppy, and I think if everyone in the country actually did this and did it right, the number of serious dog bites would approach zero. The socialization window slams shut by four months, people. Git 'er done.

On the same topic: the third chapter of Jean Donaldson's book Culture Clash — the chapter entitled Socialization, Fear and Aggression — is possibly the most important thing a first-time dog owner should read.

I'm not saying we should have mandatory classes with reading assignments, or anything like that. [On the other hand, is it a jungle out there or what?]

*************

My sister has an awesome pug. Her pug is spoiled and happy and sleeps on the bed and goes on fun hikes and has her own wardrobe. Lily MunsterPug also sits politely at the door and comes when called. She's perfect, really. My sister follows some of Cesar Millan's training recommendations. She does not, however, poke dogs with her fingers and go "Tzchttt!"

*************

I love when someone tries to defuse a religious argument by saying, "I think we all can agree that there are many paths to enlightenment."

Boom! "You know you're going to hell, don't you? Straight to hell." "Truth, not tolerance! Only one truth!" [opponents pound chests, walk away on knuckles]

Right now, advocates of different dog-training methods might as well be arguing about religion. They look like Oneness Pentecostals and Apostolic United Brethren hollering at each other, "Not Christian!" "Am too!" "Not Christian!" "Am too!" It's embarrassing to watch. Seriously. Not to mention that 99% of the dog owning public does. not. care.


Dogs are individuals. Handlers are individuals. A training method that suits one dog may not suit another. Combining techniques from different methods may work best. Whether disciples of the First Regular Church of Jesus Alive like it or not, there are many paths to enlightenment — and thank God for that. I mean, thank doG.



Related:
Cesar Millan: his dog, and his critics. Brent of KC Dog Blog rounds up the usual suspects.

Dog Training Symposium - First of It's Kind, Cesar Millan and American Humane Convene the Event. Its, dammit. Holy Mother of God, check out this comment.

H/T to Calvin Trillin for the First Regular Church of Jesus Alive.

January 25, 2010

Why the snow-removal guys couldn't find the cabin

They actually know where it is [I think] — they just couldn't get to it. There are advantages and disadvantages to being a little ways from a paved road, grasshopper. The crew will give it another shot tomorrow. More snow on the way, ay caramba. Photo by Robert Gauthier for the Los Angeles Times: one of a series you can view here.

January 24, 2010

January 7, 2010

Big whoop: Coyotes yip, shriek, howl the night away

" Anything you can sing, I can sing louder
I can sing anything louder than you
No you can't, Yes I can, No you can't, Yes I can
No you can't, Yes I can, yes I can!" Coyotes on Flickr by matt knoth.

Gah, I love this music. Great big hat tip to Camera Trap Codger, the man behind this beaut of a photo and many others.

Heard something like Track #3 right under the window up at the cabin this summer. Coyotes are loud. That scrawny chest hides a mighty amplifier. Track #6 and Track #20 sound like standard cabin serenades, the ones that wake me up at two or three in the morning happy to be warm and safe inside. Great vocalists, coyotes.

soundboard.com

Wild Coyote Sounds
at Soundboard.

December 2, 2009

Color block prints by Frances Gearhart


Untitled (Big Sur Bridge). Click for [even] bigger.

I'm totally in love with these prints by Frances Gearhart (1869-1959). [To the left: Cuyama Country, 1935.] Her art is Californian to its marrow, and it makes my heart ache, it's so beautiful and true. Thanks to Deborah Netburn of the L.A. Times for writing about this exhibition of Gearhart's work at the Pasadena Museum of California Art [how Californian is that?]. I'd provide an LAT link, except that the post only shows up in my RSS reader and the link goes to a blank page at the Times site. UPDATE: link at last.

Here's a link to Susan Futterman’s essay on Gearhart, and here's a print that must be of Big Bear Lake:

November 11, 2009

Room with a view: lookout cabins and towers


"View from the lookout cabin," Mendocino National Forest, California. Photograph by sf eyes, from Flickr.

God's country, all right.




"View to south from Kendrick Mountain Fire Lookout Tower," Arizona. Photograph by Al HikesAZ, from Flickr.

Hidden Lake Lookout, Washington. Click to embiggen. Photograph by Bmaas [see him resting above the clouds here], from Flickr.

Not a fire lookout — this is a lakeside home in Finland. I totally adore this photo. See more at Arch Daily.

October 28, 2009

Coyotes at home and away


"There's another one!" Smoke and Landshark Lu hold the fort.

I started this post [photo, title] at the cabin a month ago. It was a banner year for coyotes up the hill: the local population was booming and flourishing, thanks, some folks said, to a spike in rabbit numbers. "They [the coyotes, not the rabbits — rabbits would have been awesome] are snatching little dogs right off the leash," warned a friend. Seriously, dude.

I was alone in the tower when a huge pack of coyotes began arguing in the meadow [...] I took a photo of my face as the howling and growling was splitting the night air. It was so chilling hearing these sounds that it gave me goose flesh. [Bill Thompson III]


Down the hill in L.A. last month, two people were bitten by coyotes in Griffith Park, and eight coyotes were trapped and shot. Public outcry in 3... 2... 1...:
The howls that echoed through Griffith Park on Monday were coming from hikers, parents and nannies -- not coyotes.

Park visitors were furious with a decision to shoot coyotes in the 4,210-acre park following an encounter between a man and a coyote last week.

Eight animals were killed before the eradication effort ended at 10:50 p.m. Friday, said Kyle Orr, a spokesman for the California Department of Fish and Game.

Park visitors blasted the hunt as overkill. They blamed the problem on people who illegally feed coyotes.
[...]
At a child-friendly play area called Shane's Inspiration, a group of mothers watching their youngsters frolic were saddened by the coyote hunt.

"Killing them is silly. They were here first," Coralyn Peirson of Studio City said as she sat at a picnic table and watched her 2-year-old daughter, Emily. "Of course, if one of them carried off my baby, I'd probably feel differently."

Probably.

In related news, Terrierman reported today that a young woman was killed by two coyotes in Cape Breton, Canada. Cape Breton! Their range is expanding, they are getting smarter by the minute, and we give them a hand, as in Griffith Park, by taking the stupid ones out of the gene pool. Amazing animals, coyotes.

I saw more coyotes in the mountains this year than ever. I saw them trot past the cabin at night and in in broad daylight. I listened to one holler under the windows at dusk. [Hear that? Scary loud. If a police car siren and a werewolf had a baby...] When I took the dogs outside last thing before bed, the coyotes watched from the shadows. They moved like ghosts, but you could see their eyes glowing. Nothing spectral about those eyes.

Smoke and Lu hate coyotes with the burning fire of a thousand angry suns. Lu puts every hair up from behind her ears to the base of her tail, barks ferociously, and charges. Smoke curls his tail over his back and makes a roar fit to wake the dead. He's a lean 63 lb these days and no, I've never turned him loose after a coyote. Too fond of my yearling pup.

I did have an awful scare at the cabin this fall when senior citizen Bounce, the best and dearest dog in the history of the universe, somehow slipped past me at the porch gate and took off after a coyote that Smoke and Lu had spotted in the buckthorn. Bounce has never had an entirely reliable recall [oh, who am I kidding (weeps). Bounce has no recall, period. She does whatever the hell she wants]. Her life flashed before my eyes. Bounce sailed after the coyote like a little white cannonball for about 40 feet — and then, wonder of wonders, she reversed course and ran back up the porch steps! Ten years off my life.

Related:
Hasta luego, coyotes
Wolves, Coyotes and LGDs

Coyote Attacks: An Increasing Suburban Problem

August 29, 2009

Why my houndy cur-dog Smoke is on a leash


Bobcat.

I was going to title this post "Hello Bobcat," but the photo is worse than terrible and everyone is going to think I made the whole thing up [weeps].

Anyhow — it was mid-morning and I walked out the back door with a couple of dogs [collies, thank heaven - if you can call them off sheep, you can call them off anything] and looking at me from maybe 30 feet up the hill, in plain sight next to a patch of buckthorn, was a full-grown bobcat.

The dogs, my ten year old siblings Gray and Twig, never gave any sign that they saw him or smelled him. He turned and stepped off with all deliberate bobcatness, the way they do, and I put the dogs in the cabin and got a camera.

The camera was in a camera bag and the camera bag was hanging behind a door, and the shot above was the only photo of maybe a dozen with anything like a bobcat in it. Next time the camera will be ready and I'll be all over that beast like Last of the Mohicans.

Meanwhile, in the cheap seats: "Bobcat! Bobcat incoming! Bobcat at two o'clock! Gah, why do we even bother." Bounce and the landshark would also like everyone to notice that the cabin needs log oil.