Turkeys
The evening before last we were on the way home from a pleasant jaunt to Cambria, (where we stopped at the Linn's farm store eight miles up in the hills above town and met a very interesting guy, Dexter, more later) when I said, "let's go home on Highway One out of Morro Bay instead of through Los Osos, we have a better chance at spotting turkeys."
My bride agreed, we love spotting turkeys.
Sometimes we are slow enough and close enough so that I can gobble at them with the P.A. speaker in my grille. Once, I had a whole flock yelling back at me, I still do not know what I said. Probably something like "2 hours at 350".
We spot turkeys most consistently in a field across from the Mens Colony, which is actually a state prison. No colonists there, just turkeys. We also see deer here.
As we approached the area I slowed, and sure enough, in the fall-like golden afternoon light streaming from behind us over one of the Seven Sisters, we saw turkeys. Lots of turkeys. A turkey convention. There must have been over two dozen toms, jakes, and hens picking at the stubble around some ancient oak trees. It was our best turkey-spotting session in many a day.
As I was technically on a 65 miles per hour highway and they were a couple of hundred yards off, I did not try to eommunicate with them. As I had mooed at some cows earlier that day and got the dopey, drooling head turning I live for, I was OK with that. So on home we now sped in the fading light, warmed by the sight of America's Bird en masse.
About Dexter: as I said, before the turkeys we went up into the hills south of Cambria to see Linn's farm store. It has much the same things as their outlets in town, but the trip is through beautiful country and they have a pleasant picnic area on a creek beside the store.
We arrived, after seeing the summer calves with their mothers on a couple of farm/ranches. It is amazing to me how such cute little critters, no larger than a Labrador, can turn into the behemoths studding the hillsides.
We leisurely perused the gadgets, jams, jellies, art works, and all manner of decorative farm and chicken themed items. We finally got some cookies, salad dressing, and damned if I can remember the third thing..probably a gift for some ingrate. Kidding!
The clerk was a wiry guy about my age, very friendly fellow. He told me the smoke outside that was giving my breathing hell was probably from a party at a nearby ranch. He knew it was not a wildfire, he said, as his pager had not gone off. As I had parked next to a big pickup with a volunteer firefighter license wrapper, I figured that was his.
I said my Dad used to tell us about the parties in his farmland childhood and young adulthood, that you could get home no matter what your condition because the horse knows the way.
He told me his dad used to say the same thing, and that when his dad admonshed him to drive carefully he reminded him all he had to do was to throw the reins on the dashboard. We laughed.
As we left, we chatted in the parking and he confirmed that he was a volunteer for the Cambria Fire Department, and retired from the city of San Luis Obispo four years ago after 28 years. Now he tends the farm store and drive a fire truck when called. He also told us that, despite the signs, the road to the store continued over the mountain south, crossed Highway 46, and descended into Cayucos.
It was an interesting interlude with an interesting man.
We left the same way we came in as it was getting late, and we wanted to read the Sunday paper overlooking Moonstone Beach, which we did. The turkeys were in our near future.
The Sand
The next day we went down to the Pismo Beach State Park ranger station and paid $10 for a senior limited use day pass, good for all year except Memorial Day to Labor Day.
I immediately headed for the Oceano Dunes access kiosk to get Laughing Gravy on the beach for the first time since we moved here.
My bride later admitted to a little nervousness as we traversed the stretch from the kiosk to the hard damp sand near the ocean. I had asked the ranger about using a two wheel drive pickup and that is what she advised: stay on the hard stuff near the shore.
So off we went, south into the fog, gingerly trying to avoid dry-looking churned up patches. It was a ball!
The surf was pounding, the shorebirds were running around digging for who-knows-what in the sand just exposed by a retreating waves, and we even spotted a snowy egret in the mix...
We went a couple of miles, down to where I reckoned our neghborhood was closest. We passed all kinds of vehicles, coming and going, and little encampments back off the shore toward the dunes, which loomed all other-worldy in the foggy light. People actually drag huge travel trailers out here and set up camps, vying to have the tallest pole with the biggest American flag. Quite a sight! We made a semi-scary u-turn and retraced our route. During the summer we would see veritable cities out here with our binoculars from the road closest to the dunes. I definitely will pay extra to come back next summer, meantime our $10 pass will get a lot of use!
The evening before last we were on the way home from a pleasant jaunt to Cambria, (where we stopped at the Linn's farm store eight miles up in the hills above town and met a very interesting guy, Dexter, more later) when I said, "let's go home on Highway One out of Morro Bay instead of through Los Osos, we have a better chance at spotting turkeys."
My bride agreed, we love spotting turkeys.
Sometimes we are slow enough and close enough so that I can gobble at them with the P.A. speaker in my grille. Once, I had a whole flock yelling back at me, I still do not know what I said. Probably something like "2 hours at 350".
We spot turkeys most consistently in a field across from the Mens Colony, which is actually a state prison. No colonists there, just turkeys. We also see deer here.
As we approached the area I slowed, and sure enough, in the fall-like golden afternoon light streaming from behind us over one of the Seven Sisters, we saw turkeys. Lots of turkeys. A turkey convention. There must have been over two dozen toms, jakes, and hens picking at the stubble around some ancient oak trees. It was our best turkey-spotting session in many a day.
As I was technically on a 65 miles per hour highway and they were a couple of hundred yards off, I did not try to eommunicate with them. As I had mooed at some cows earlier that day and got the dopey, drooling head turning I live for, I was OK with that. So on home we now sped in the fading light, warmed by the sight of America's Bird en masse.
About Dexter: as I said, before the turkeys we went up into the hills south of Cambria to see Linn's farm store. It has much the same things as their outlets in town, but the trip is through beautiful country and they have a pleasant picnic area on a creek beside the store.
We arrived, after seeing the summer calves with their mothers on a couple of farm/ranches. It is amazing to me how such cute little critters, no larger than a Labrador, can turn into the behemoths studding the hillsides.
We leisurely perused the gadgets, jams, jellies, art works, and all manner of decorative farm and chicken themed items. We finally got some cookies, salad dressing, and damned if I can remember the third thing..probably a gift for some ingrate. Kidding!
The clerk was a wiry guy about my age, very friendly fellow. He told me the smoke outside that was giving my breathing hell was probably from a party at a nearby ranch. He knew it was not a wildfire, he said, as his pager had not gone off. As I had parked next to a big pickup with a volunteer firefighter license wrapper, I figured that was his.
I said my Dad used to tell us about the parties in his farmland childhood and young adulthood, that you could get home no matter what your condition because the horse knows the way.
He told me his dad used to say the same thing, and that when his dad admonshed him to drive carefully he reminded him all he had to do was to throw the reins on the dashboard. We laughed.
As we left, we chatted in the parking and he confirmed that he was a volunteer for the Cambria Fire Department, and retired from the city of San Luis Obispo four years ago after 28 years. Now he tends the farm store and drive a fire truck when called. He also told us that, despite the signs, the road to the store continued over the mountain south, crossed Highway 46, and descended into Cayucos.
It was an interesting interlude with an interesting man.
We left the same way we came in as it was getting late, and we wanted to read the Sunday paper overlooking Moonstone Beach, which we did. The turkeys were in our near future.
The Sand
The next day we went down to the Pismo Beach State Park ranger station and paid $10 for a senior limited use day pass, good for all year except Memorial Day to Labor Day.
I immediately headed for the Oceano Dunes access kiosk to get Laughing Gravy on the beach for the first time since we moved here.
My bride later admitted to a little nervousness as we traversed the stretch from the kiosk to the hard damp sand near the ocean. I had asked the ranger about using a two wheel drive pickup and that is what she advised: stay on the hard stuff near the shore.
So off we went, south into the fog, gingerly trying to avoid dry-looking churned up patches. It was a ball!
The surf was pounding, the shorebirds were running around digging for who-knows-what in the sand just exposed by a retreating waves, and we even spotted a snowy egret in the mix...
We went a couple of miles, down to where I reckoned our neghborhood was closest. We passed all kinds of vehicles, coming and going, and little encampments back off the shore toward the dunes, which loomed all other-worldy in the foggy light. People actually drag huge travel trailers out here and set up camps, vying to have the tallest pole with the biggest American flag. Quite a sight! We made a semi-scary u-turn and retraced our route. During the summer we would see veritable cities out here with our binoculars from the road closest to the dunes. I definitely will pay extra to come back next summer, meantime our $10 pass will get a lot of use!
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