Alice and Mary and Nora

Put them all together and what do you get? If you can figure it out before I tell you later you win a taco. (And no, Heller, it’s not a dirty movie)
Here is a hint. It is a lake in northeast California.
At the end of July we headed back to SoCal. Spent the night at Tuttle Creek campground west of Lone Pine in the Alabama Hills.

I must have played my music just a bit too loud because somebody fired a missile in my direction.

They missed.
I didn’t do much in August. Spent a bit of time at Brother Mike’s house and then a couple of weeks at a Thousand Trails campground called San Benito just south of San Jose.
They opened up my favorite loop for Freddy and I so we had it mostly to ourselves.

From there we headed northeast to a campground I last visited in 2004. Clark Fork is located on the 108 about 20 miles east of Pinecrest. From what I remembered, the sites were huge and they don’t take reservations so we were fine for a Friday arrival.
Site 46 was massive but doesn’t look so from the front.

But as you walk in it just keeps going on and on.

And on.

Which is where I found Freddy after his brief bout of squirrel chasing.

Looking back you can barely see the trailer.

We only stayed for one night so let’s travel back to 2004 for some more pictures. At this point my car was just six months old.

So shiny and naked.
Camp tacos were still my favorite food.

The river is frequently stocked with trout.

This was my favorite fishing hole.

Yep. A fat native rainbow trout. No clipped fin.
Clark (or Clarks as it is sometimes called) Fork is a wonderful campground that I highly reccomend. Get there early on a Friday in the summer and maybe you can nab the best site, 46, like I did. $20 per night with flush toilets but no showers.
Freddy and I spent the Labor Day weekend a little farther northeast at Lake A….Wait. Did you figure out the name of the lake yet from the blog title?
No?
Well when PG&E decided to create a dam on the Feather River near Chester, they let the chief engineer name the resulting lake.
He used his daughter’s names. ALice, MAry, and NORa.
Hence Lake Almanor.
There are many campgrounds gracing the shore of this almost always full reservoir. Some private, a few managed by PG&E, and one by the Forest Service.
The private ones are expensive, the PG&E ones slightly less so but they have the nerve to charge exta for dogs.
We stayed at the Forest Service campground. Make that campgrounds as there are two. Almanor North and Almanor South. About half the sites at South are reservable while North is first come first served.
Let’s take a look at South.

53 sites. $18 per night. 1-19 and 53 are reservable.

A couple of my favorites were 10 and 13.

Freddy left his mark of approval on number 16.

All the sites are big, but if you need a couple of acres to call your own, select site 31.

We arrived on Tuesday before the the holiday weekend. By Friday, both campgrounds were full. And why not.
A big clear lake.

A big beach.

And a big boat ramp that actually reaches the water, unlike many others in California.

There is also a 9 mile lakeside recreation trail.

The historic town of Chester is nearby with all the goodies you might require, as well as Mount Lassen and the Pacific Crest Trail.

Anyway, Freddy and I stayed in Almanor North.

In the best campsite, number 46. Another huge one.

Seriously, here are some views of our site.
From the front left.

From the rear left.

From the rear right.

From the front right.

Freddy was bouncing around in the dirt chasing a tennis ball in the right side of the picture above. He asked me to crop in on just him because he thinks he looks cool.

Whatever.
A pair of fun couples camped next to me over the long weekend. Saturday night we all walked over to the Plumas Pines Resort about a half mile away to listen to a band called Northern Traditionz.
I think I had a great time. I do know that my knee is healing rapidly.

Looks like beef jerky. Suddenly I am hungry.
Brother Mike gave me two bundles of firewood before I left SoCal. I gave them to my neighbors and shared the fire with them. The next day before I left, another camper gave me a bunch of firewood.

I didn’t need to have another campfire so I asked Yoda Freddy what to do.

“Your footsteps others will follow. Sign you will make to repel the dark side.”
I processed that and made a sign.

Just paying it forward.
Today, September 13, is my little brother’s 50th birthday. Have a good one Mike. We wish you the best!
Regards,
Greg and Freddy.

Royal Canadian Water Dog

Yep.
A Royal Canadian Water Dog.
That is the moniker that Freddy goes by nowadays. He thinks that anything ending in “doodle” isn’t manly enough for him, seeing as he is over a year old. We both feel sorry for the poor Cocker Spaniel/Poodle mix.
I mean, Cockapoo? Seriously? When I told Freddy he could be a Goldenpoo, he just glared at me, mumbling something about some golden poo in my shoe.
So here is our new schtick.
“Hey, what kinda dog is that?”
“That, my friend, is a Royal Canadian Water Dog. They are descended from wolverines and fur seals. Very popular with the royalty in the Great White North. The King of Canada currently owns three.”
Meanwhile Freddy just sits up straight and attempts to look noble. Most people just walk away at that point, with a somewhat confused expression on their face. Others want to touch him. I explain that protocol dictates a bow or a curtsy first. Had no takers on that yet, just strange looks.
Here is the Royal Canadian Water Dog chasing polar bears in the northern reaches of Canada.

The bears are just off to the right…just out of the frame. Barely.
More of that later, let’s get caught up first.
We left Storrie Lake and headed north to Cimarron Canyon State Park, my favorite in New Mexico during the summer.

It is about 40 miles east of Taos along US 64. The elevation and location keep the temperatures down, a welcome respite from the 90’s we had been experiencing.
There are four campgrounds in the park located alongside a nifty trout filled river, but only Maverick has a lake as well.
Some of the reservable sites are right on the shore, like numbers 36, 37, and 39.

We ended up staying for two weeks, leaving the 5th of July.
Everyday we would walk to the river. Through the crowded campground…

…and over the bridge to Freddy’s happy place.

(10 trout on that stringer!)

Freddy is licking his chops for a tennis ball. I obliged. He showed off by using just his front legs and dual anal water jets as he chased the ball down the river.

After an hour or so he would get tired and we’d head back to camp.

I topped up my burrito stash while pondering the rear of the truck across from me.

The two bumper stickers just struck me as funny for some reason.
Our time was up, 14 days being the limit, and the southwest was in a heatwave. Grand Mesa National Forest outside of Grand Junction, Colorado was calling our names.
There are several small campgrounds on top of the mesa at over 10,000 feet in elevation. I visited one of them, Little Bear, in 2011. Check out that visit in my post from August 11, 2011. Lot’s of info about the mesa as well.
This time we tried out Ward Lake.

We lucked into the best spot and stayed for 4 nights. I was driving in and he was driving out.

Freddy was very happy and promised me a surprise. Hopefully not golden poo.

There are just two dozen sites here, no reservations accepted, and cost $16 per night. Maybe three are on the water in the lower loop.

My site tag was looked at by several other campers as to when I would be leaving but only one guy had his shit together. He stopped by and brought us a plate of delectable chicken drumsticks and asked if it would be ok if he put up a couple of his chairs the night before before we left.
No problemo. Feed me and I am easy.
Anyway, I asked Freddy what he wanted to show me. Take me for a walk and I will, he said. Alrighty then.

“Now throw the ball in the lake”.
“But you don’t swim”.
“Trust me”.
So I did.

And he swam.

“I thought you couldn’t swim?”
“There are many things you don’t know about me”, he responded.
“But you never went in the water above your butt before. I had to wade out to get the ball back.”
He looked at me and then looked away.

“I enjoyed watching you fetch”, he said.
Then he brought up the whole name change thingy, but I put a halt to that. I explained that to be called a Royal anything, you needed your own sovereign territory. A place to rule. He mentioned the trailer but I said that didn’t count. We left it at that, with his doggy brain working hard. No doubt thinking about palace coup.
We both dislike the heat, so I told him about a private campground up near Tahoe we could stay at for a while, just a couple of days drive to the west.
“Does it have a lake?”
“Yes”.
“An island?”
“I don’t know”.
I wondered what he was up to, but I didn’t care. We headed west, stopping for the night at a tiny spot called Maple Grove, halfway between Salina and Scipio on US 50 in Utah. It’s located on the east edge of Fish Lake National Forest and while all the sites are nice, site 3 is primo.
Here is a tour, front to back.

Freddy is getting impatient.

Where did he go?

To the little swimming hole at the back of the site, of course. How cool is this spot? $10 per night.

Freddy found a ball cap in the bushes, a BYU hat. He asked me about it.
“What are cougars?”
“Well, normally it means older gals trying to recapture their youth, but in this case it is a university mascot, a wild cat”.
“A cat?”
“Yep”.
So he ate it. He likes cats.

Silly puppy. We left the next morning.
After almost 400 miles across the loneliest road in America, we arrived at Snowflower, a Thousand Trails campground just west of Truckee, California. The gas prices were $2.19 in Reno and then a few miles later, over the state line, $3.39. Ah, California. I love you and I hate you.
The Golden State has within it’s borders some of the best places to camp in the country. From the sandy beaches and deserts to the rugged mountains and redwoods and lakes, it really has it all. And with the screwed up socialist government running the show, they will damn well make sure you ante up to enjoy it. I have watched the cost of camping at CA state parks jump from $12 to $20 to $35 in the last 10 years.
But I digress…
Back to Snowflower.

We found a great spot shaded by cedar trees and discovered a path to the lake right next to us.

A short climb takes you up to the dam.

Past the boat dock is a trail that goes around the lake.

I stuck a stick in some bear scat and judged it to be several hours old. We were fine to continue.

Suddenly Freddy stopped and looked out at the lake.
“This is it”.
“What is what?” I replied.
“My sovereign territory. My kingdom. Throw a ball at that small island”.
So I did.

And he swam and grabbed the ball.

Then he looked back at me.

“This is my island! I am the King and therefore of royalty. I will henceforth be known as a Royal Canadian Water Dog!”
I didn’t want to mention that his island looked like it was frequented by waterfowl and his royal butt was covered in poop. Didn’t want to spoil his moment. I also wondered where he picked up the lingo. Does he watch Downton Abbey?
“Yes Freddy, you are now a Royal Canadian Water Dog. I am heading back to camp. I think my shoes are falling apart and I want to get to the trailer before dark”.
He ignored me. As I walked away I heard him barking at the fish to pay him homage. At the ducks to bring him sustenance. They and I ignored him. He eventually followed me.


Greg (and King Freddy, Royal Canadian Water Dog)