Slept fairly lousily at the hotel, as expected. Too bright, plus smoke filtering in from some unknown source (though only I could smell it). Melina woke at 4:00 a.m. and wanted me in the bed with her, so I switched beds, but didn't go back to sleep until 6:30 or so; she woke at 7:15.
Found a good grocery store to make up for the fact that we forgot to go to the store in Baker City for last-minute supplies. I was happy to see fresh vegetables. As we were wandering through the cramped little store, I heard what I thought was a sad or wounded dog squealing in the back, behind the meat counter. I thought, well, it's such a small town they probably let their employees bring their pets to work. Found out later it was an employee practicing his elk call, much to the amusement of the checkout lady.
After stocking up on non-perishable vegetables (like zucchini), we drove to the llama ranch. There we were met by Raz, his wife Louise, and another woman who lived on the property. The two women were working in their beautiful, flourishing, verdant vegetable garden, which was fertilized by a steady supply of llama poop. I was extremely envious. The garden was surrounded by fruit trees, and there was a chicken coop nearby. Melina "helped" in the garden while we packed and repacked the llama panniers, weighed them (they must be equal on both sides of the llama) and learned the basics of packing and managing a llama. I begrudgingly gave up half of my Trader Joe's cookies to save space. I should have given up more; as usual, I packed enough food for an extra army.
Finally, we went to round up the llamas - an operation requiring three people (not us) and a very long piece of rope. Soon Raz et al. came back with two dark brown llamas, Nigel and Velcro. Both are extremely laid back; Nigel is the "ambassador llama" who accompanies them to REI, and is used to curious kids and newbies. Jeff did manage to get one of them (Velcro?) to spit when he was learning to attach the halter, though (luckily he spat at a tree, and not at Jeff).
Raz loaded the llamas onto a truck, and we headed off to Summit Point trailhead, a very steep and rough road. Raz stopped to let his wife out so she could pick huckleberries in the woods, and we continued on.
When we arrived, we loaded the panniers onto the llamas (Jeff getting to be quite a pro at this) and loaded Melina on to Jeff's back. I led Nigel and Velcro by a rope over my shoulder. They are so well-trained, it was easy to forget they were even there. Nigel (in the lead) stayed about two feet behind me the entire time. We would stop for a rest; I would move away; Nigel would follow, like someone at a cocktail party with a poor sense of personal space. Then there were a few times when Nigel refused to move--a protest against leaving a favorite grazing area, I think. A few firm words and tugs and we would (usually) be on our way. It was hard to remember that you're never supposed to look a llama in the eye: they take it as an insult, or perhaps a challenge. Given the huge size of their limpid brown eyes, it's very hard not to do.
After getting into the groove a bit, it became clear that this wasn't going to be a fast hike. The llamas need to rest about 10 minutes out of every hour, and since we had packed them so fully, we needed to go extra slowly. I, being in charge of the llamas, had to make sure we didn't stop in a field full of lupine, which is poisonous to llamas. This was a challenge because lupine is by far the most common plant around, with multiple varieties in different colors and forms. I was wondering where we were ever going to find a lupine-free zone to camp--until we came to the Meadow.
The Meadow! I never expected a meadow like this. A high altitude alpine grassland, a mile long and half a mile wide, interspersed with stands of pine, surrounded by high granite peaks, and topped with an endless sky scattered with thunderheads. Absolutely gorgeous.
After some wandering around, crossing streams and trying to avoid poisonous plants, we set up our camp near a lone pine and a small creek. Melina busied herself arranging rocks and making various foods out of dirt. And then Jeff realized he had forgotten the water filter.
So we boiled some noodles in stream water, and I made a pasta puttanesca that Melina refused to eat, and Jeff convinced me that he should run back to the car (three miles) to get the filter. This is the kind of thing that fills me with dread: all sorts of visions of Melina and I alone in the wilderness, Jeff having disappeared without a trace; the wolves circling. I was comforted by the fact that there's a staffed lookout tower 2.5 miles back, so if there was an emergency we could go there (and believe me, I had visions of strapping Melina to my back at midnight and pounding on the startled lookout's door...) Anyway, I "let" him go and tried to keep myself occupied for the next two hours, doing dishes and reading to Melina and not letting her know I was nervous even when a pack of coyotes started up a lusty howl feet from our tent; and even when the pounding hoofbeats of some unknown creatures alarmed the llamas into standing up and pointing, llama style, at the sound. Outside, I lit a candle and an LED light as a beacon for Jeff when the sun went down.
After about an hour and 45 minutes, just as it was getting truly dark, Jeff returned. Yay! He told me he had been followed by an owl and had seen a herd of deer or antelope nearby. He took over the job of reading to Melina, and I went out to look for the owl and to get us some water with the filter.
The owl--or owls--found me almost immediately. There were two of them, and with my headlamp I could see their whitish underbellies. [Talking to a friend later, I figured they must have been short-eared owls.] They circled me several times in absolute silence, their wings making not a sound. Finally one of them made a creaking call, like a squeaky wheel, three times. After a few more circuits, they flew away.
I investigated the bog where I had been directed to get water, found it to be disgusting, and went back down a hill to a small stream near our camp. In the dark it seemed three times further away; I was disoriented and glad I had brought a little LED candle to use as a path marker at the top of the hill. I kneeled by the creek in the dark, filling our bottles, and trying not to look like prey to a mountain lion. Halfway through, I saw something move in the stream, and realized I was drawing water directly downstream from a big warty toad. As I was kneeling down to look at the toad I heard a whooping sound nearby. Spooked, I darted back to camp, and Jeff confirmed that it was a coyote.
So now Melina is in bed, Jeff is bundled up head to toe in a sleeping bag looking at the stars, and Velcro and Nigel are sitting contentedly in the field. They seem so easily pleased; they don't need much. Just grass and water and fresh air, at least for today.
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