California and Oregon
May 19-24, 2018
Roger, Mike, and Tony
It was a five-day trip to California and
Oregon. One day was spent getting
to California, another day was spent getting back
home. One of the remaining three
days were spent driving 500 miles to Oregon, and another day was spent driving
from Oregon back to California.
That left one full day to do what we wanted to
do: collect as much obsidian as we
could.
We got to Glass Buttes in the late
afternoon. If you want to look it
up, itÕs about 40 miles west of Burns, Oregon.
With me on the trip were Mike and Tony. This was the 9th trip that I
have flown out to meet Mike and Lauri, and they, again, were
terrific hosts. We picked Tony up
on our way north.
Tony is a tattoo artist from the Sacramento
area, and has a keen interest in flintknapping and primitive skills, and is extremely
knowledgeable. Mike, of course, as
an archeologist and a flintknapper, has an amazing amount
of knowledge too, so I learned a lot on this trip.
Glass Buttes is known for the many varieties of
obsidian that are found so closely together. IÕm sure several thousand people have visited this area over the years, and many of them, since
prehistoric days, have broken open the pieces to see whatÕs inside, and done
their flintknapping right on the site.
Obsidian flakes are everywhere.
As you may recall
from my last visit to California, and a visit to Grizzly BearÕs Hiding Place http://www.rogerwmanderson.com/grizzlybears2017.htm
I told Mike at
that time that I was giving up camping.
ItÕs just too hard on my back, and I sleep fitfully. I told him to give away my tent and
backpack and all the things IÕd used, and next trip, we could hike all we
wanted, but I wanted a soft bed in the evenings.
Well, that didnÕt
work out so well. It seems that
Glass Butte is about 50 miles from the nearest motel, and that motel has a Ôone
starÕ rating. So camping out it
was.
We found a very
nice campsite, and because we had MikeÕs pickup, we could bring a few more
amenities than we could if we were backpacking. So a table, chairs, large tarps in case
it rained, all made it a bit more comfortable. And it did rain, sporadically, most of
the time we were there.
We did some collecting of obsidian later that
first afternoon. It was ubiquitous,
as I had said earlier.
This was much more of a desert climate, and the
main foliage was sagebrush and Juniper trees.
There were also many beautiful wildflowers in
the area.
After a delicious breakfast, most of the next
day was devoted to looking for various kinds of obsidian. It rained off and on all day, but there
were lots of varieties to be found, and a few hundred pounds were collected in
various sizes and colors and hues including pitch black.
That evening both Mike and Tony did some flintknapping, and I was the
lucky beneficiary of a point from both of them.
Tony made the tiniest of points that has amazing detail.
Mike made a beautiful point out of pink obsidian. I have them framed together in a
specimen frame as a memento of the trip.
We packed up the next morning and were on the
road by 8:00 AM for the long drive back.
We headed to Chico and our evening meal to meet with Richard and Andy
and Jill whom I had met several times before. We ate at the Sierra Nevada Brewing
Company in Chico, which has become kind of a tradition.
Then it was back to Sacramento, and dropping
Tony off, and then to Mike and LauriÕs to clean up, pack, and head to the
airport at 4:00 AM.
It was a lot packed into a few days, but some memorable times and some
quality time with wonderful friends.
ÒGeorge
GrayÓ (speaking
from the grave) ÒI have studied many times |
The marble which was chiseled for
me— |
A boat with a furled sail at rest in
a harbor. |
In truth it pictures not my
destination |
But my life. |
For love was offered me and I shrank
from its disillusionment; |
Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was
afraid; |
Ambition called to me, but I dreaded
the chances. |
Yet all the while I hungered for
meaning in my life. |
And now I know that we must lift the
sail |
And catch the winds of destiny |
Wherever they drive the boat. |
To put meaning in oneÕs life may end
in madness, |
But life without meaning is the
torture |
Of restlessness and vague
desire— |
It is a boat longing for the sea and
yet afraid.Ó
-Edgar Lee Masters in Spoon River Anthology |