Now that we’re camped closer to the road, I expect Saturday campers to drive by throughout the day.
All day only about five cars go by, and only one looks like someone who might camp (in his van which has curtains), unless the rest are tent campers. In the main camping area there are still only three camps: Ken and Scooter’s, Gail’s, and mine and the crew’s.
Bridget, Spike, and I walk up to the rocky plateau.
It’s at the top the slope on the other side of the road from our campsite. I let Spike lead the way over very rocky ground. He takes us far away from the camping area. I see numerous signs of deer and elk.
I take a few photos. At one point a duck appears out of the bushes and flies off. A duck? Up here? I bet she has a nest. Spikey pulls toward the bush and I see the cozy construction she’s made out of pine needles.
“C’mon, Spike,” I order as I pull him back. “We don’t want to disturb her nest.”
At one point I feel like we’re lost.
I mean, pine trees, grass, and rocks tend to look alike.
Let’s see. How did the sun strike the BLT first thing this morning? Oh, I know. Just keep the sun at our right and we’ll be heading home.
After picking our way through rocks for several minutes, we reach the edge of the plateau and Gail’s motorhome comes into view.
Whew! We really shouldn’t be traipsing around in the forest without a compass. I need to get one before we do this again. We follow the road back to our camp. The crew is worn out.
Shortly after we’re back at camp, the shooting starts.
Someone is up where we were walking, shooting at trees or a target or something. It’s not someone hunting unless there are over a hundred head of game up on top of that plateau or he’s one heckuva bad shot! The person pulls off about that many shots before Spike can’t take it anymore and starts barking at the direction of the shooter. Soon the campground and forest are quiet again . . . except for the birds, of course.
I pull up my lounger and watch a robin splashing in Spike’s Pond.
Spike and Bridget are pooped from our big excursion, and now that peace has returned, they fall asleep in the pine needles. I have to smile at the mud on Spike’s legs. Nothing like wading in a pond to cool off after a long hike. Gee, I hope that package arrives in the mail – I’ll check the post office on Monday — so we can leave on Tuesday morning. I don’t want to drive all the way to Lee’s Ferry in one day. Keep the trips short. That’s my motto.
A bluebird and a bright yellow bird come by Spike’s Pond for a drink.
Maybe I could take us a little north of Flagstaff and camp in the Kaibab National Forest for a day or two. That would slice off at least 30 miles from the trip to Lee’s Ferry. I doze off for a few minutes until Bridget wakes me up. She wants to be held. What a baby!
I look for Spike and see he’s wandering around. I can tell he’s in his Heh-heh-she-s-not-watching-so-it’s-time-to-make-a-break-for-it mood. I get up, follow his cute little behind which he moves at a faster and faster pace, trying to outdistance me. I scoop him up and hold him in my arms, his belly to the sun.
“Okay, devil dog, we’re going inside.”
Speaking of a devil dog, later I cook some chicken on the charcoal grill. After giving Bridget and Spike several morsels of prime chicken breast, Spike goes ahead and steals one off the grill while I’m in the BLT getting a drink! I come out and see him trying to chow down on the dirt-covered chicken before I catch him, but it’s too hot for his mouth.
I love this guy so much, I can’t get mad at him. I pick up the chicken, wipe it off, and cut it up into chunks. “Okay, Spike. Your devilry is rewarded. But you have to share with Bridget.”
Tonight is Super Moon Night.
What would I do without this blog! I get so much good advice, plus a lot of laughs, from people writing comments. I wouldn’t even know to look at the moon tonight if it weren’t for the blog. Tonight several of you will probably be looking at the moon, too. What a crazy, wonderful time to be alive!