OWAC* always puts on a great conference - one day of meetings, seminars, workshops; a mini-trade show; and lots of networking with peers from all walks of life and media. From agri-tourism in the Central Valley, to a Jeep tour of the Kalahari, we have an amazing breadth of talent and subject matter ... but before long it always reverts to the old guys weaving their fish tales ...
On the second day we are hosted (generously, and very genuinely too - in Lake County) with 'activities' and later I'll get into the absolute thrill of soaring over Mount St. Helena, bouncing through the vineyards, and sailing across Clear Lake (I think I whacked the top of the 'Fun Meter' Monday). But Tuesday morning found us (the sky clear but I, a bit foggy) gathered for breakfast at the Lakeport Yacht Club, saying our farewells and passing out business cards. This has been a successful and exciting event for me (a little fattening too!): Lake County is gorgeous and I have tons of fodder for new stories (including one I already pitched and got okayed on the drive back!).
Soon I was on the road again; weaving along the lakefront, past orchards and vineyards, and the bucolic scene of a mare resting contently with her foal, beneath a tree. Melissa had suggested a more scenic route south (raising the 'scenic' bar from about an eight or nine, to a ten) and I turned off on the appropriate road, leaving the valleys and hills behind. Climbing through the pines on sun-dappled roads that were so winding, I'd describe them more as 'interminable switchbacks sewn end-to-end' - I spent the rest of the morning enjoying the sunshine and crisp air.
Eventually the route dropped into Napa Valley. The land lost its untamed beauty and became more manicured - even contrived - but this too was easy on the eyes. Mother Nature can dish out some hellacious weather, but by contrast I also find nature to be the most comforting of sights too.
I followed my directions to Napa and my dear friend Molly's house. Greeted by Molly - looking like a beautiful, luscious peach, in her sixth month of pregnancy; and Franklin - a most handsome, young but tall boxer, who doesn't so much wag his tale as gyrate his whole rear end; we spent some delightful (and well overdue) time catching up.
And then (who is surprised here?) I worked on the book until the wee hours HOWEVER
it
is
done!!!
TADA! (More on "David Gallup: California's Channel Islands" another time.)
Heading back to Seal Beach now by way of the Golden Gate Bridge and further south Rte 101, through Paso Robles and my old stomping grounds. Weather clear and gorgeous; anticipating another glorious ride home.
* Outdoor Writers Association of California
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Clearlake. Clearly.
What a gorgeous place!
After the bland expanse of Highway 5, I delightedly took the turn to Route 20. I am definitely a road-less-traveled/scenic-route kind of girl, and eased onto the country road; a winding lane skirting Cortina Ridge and cutting through Grizzly Canyon - where bright yellow signs warned of elk crossings. Off the beaten path indeed.
The smooth green hills fell steeply to the roadway and the uneven lakeshore, which was spotted with small towns reminiscent of another time: where gaggles of little girls clutched flowers - or in one case a puppy, while young boys furiously peddled bicycles while gripping fishing poles ... past blooming lupine, poppies, buckwheat, and massive bushes dripping with dollops of candy-sweet lilacs; or emerald valleys where livestock (sheep, horses, cattle) grazed in the perfect 70-degree afternoon.
For now however, I'm locked inside the conference hall (encouraged though to write & shoot & post, as we are in fact Outdoor Writers Assoc. of California) adjacent a calliopean smoke-filled casino. What a contrast to the beatific, bucolic atmosphere outside.
After the bland expanse of Highway 5, I delightedly took the turn to Route 20. I am definitely a road-less-traveled/scenic-route kind of girl, and eased onto the country road; a winding lane skirting Cortina Ridge and cutting through Grizzly Canyon - where bright yellow signs warned of elk crossings. Off the beaten path indeed.
The smooth green hills fell steeply to the roadway and the uneven lakeshore, which was spotted with small towns reminiscent of another time: where gaggles of little girls clutched flowers - or in one case a puppy, while young boys furiously peddled bicycles while gripping fishing poles ... past blooming lupine, poppies, buckwheat, and massive bushes dripping with dollops of candy-sweet lilacs; or emerald valleys where livestock (sheep, horses, cattle) grazed in the perfect 70-degree afternoon.
For now however, I'm locked inside the conference hall (encouraged though to write & shoot & post, as we are in fact Outdoor Writers Assoc. of California) adjacent a calliopean smoke-filled casino. What a contrast to the beatific, bucolic atmosphere outside.