Wells, Nevada

Wells, Nevada is one of those forgettable places. People whiz by on I-80 or stop for gas and probably never remember its name.
    For thousands of years Wells has been a place where travelers pause to replenish. Shoshone Indians, Hudson Bay fur trappers and mountain men camped in the area. Covered wagons traveling the California Trail stopped in the 1800s before tackling the rest of the trail west. They camped not far from what today is downtown, about eighty miles from where Idaho and Utah meet. It was a good place to rest a while. It had a dozen springs and meadows with plenty of fresh water and grass. The area became known as Humboldt Wells and was the source of the Humboldt River, which those wagon trains followed all the way to the Humboldt Sink just outside of what is today Lovelock, Nevada. When the Central Pacific established a division point in Humboldt Wells, a town grew up around it and the name was shortened to Wells.
    Shortly after 6 am on February 21, 2008 a 6.3 magnitude earthquake rudely awakened the residents. Its epicenter was just 11 miles away. Virtually every house, 700 of them and all the businesses sustained some sort of damage. Luckily only three people were hurt. But the historic district along Front Street was devastated.
    March is my usual month to do what I call my walkabout, which is simply to mosey around Nevada and see what can be seen that I haven’t already sighted and to revisit favorite places. After attending Shooting the West in Winnemucca, another one of my favorite habits, I shoved off for Ely, but first there had to be a stop in Wells to see the damage. As I walked along historic Front Street, I harkened back to my last visit, long before the earthquake. I remembered that not all of the buildings were occupied then. Some were definitely showing their age, looking as if the only thing holding them up was their next-door neighbor. I surveyed the damage to these old buildings and thought, “To restore them will be a big job, costing a ton of money and requiring townspeople to unite behind the effort.” Is Wells up to that? I don’t know, but where there’s a will, there’s a way and rural Nevadans are hardy souls who have a lot of grit and determination. They just might pull it off.

Trinidad, a hidden gem

Bet you’ve never been to Trinidad. You’re probably thinking I mean the island off the coast of Venezuela, but I’m not. I’m talking about the small hamlet in Northern California. If you’ve traveled the 101, twenty-three miles north of Eureka, you’ve probably zoomed on by, ignoring the billboards that say “Discover Trinidad.” It’s easy to do; Trinidad is well hidden behind the trees. I ignored the signs until one day I took the off ramp and wow! There sat a funky little village, just the bare necessities, overlooking a beautiful bay.
    Trinidad has two rather famous distinctions: it’s the smallest, oldest, most westerly California town and in 1914 the lighthouse, not the replica shown here, but the one that sits on Trinidad Head, was struck by the highest wave ever recorded on the West Coast. It was the result of an unusually high tide coupled with the force of a violent winter storm. The wave shot up the face of the bluff and literally fell onto the top of the lighthouse, which stood 196 feet above sea level. It burst through the windows and snuffed out the light just as the light keeper was busy working in the lantern room. Can you imagine the look on his face as he turned and saw what he described as “a sea of unusual height?” There was no permanent damage to the building or the light and the keeper had everything back in service several hours later...after changing his shorts, no doubt.
    We love to camp a few miles north of town. Our favorite site is at the edge of a slope overlooking the ocean. In front of us are large bushes, ferns and ivy-covered trees; it’s like being in a tree house. A short distance from shore we can see several rock formations. On one of them a group of sea lions is usually doing their basking routine. They talk to each other most of the time and their barking can be heard quite clearly. They do stop once in a while, probably to rest their vocal cords or maybe to pause and scratch an itchy place. I wonder if they ever think about the noises coming from land? Nah, their thoughts are all about food, rank, sex, and who’s trying to eat me? And then there are the “words” of the big males, “Hey, you quit messing with my ladies.”
    It is great fun relaxing in our “tree house” listening to the barking seals. Trinidad is definitely one of those places that I have placed on my “Come-Back-To” list.

More Trinidad Images

Picture #1 is the residential area of Trinidad. The village is hidden behind the houses to the left of the church at the top, center of the picture.














Picture #2 is a view of the bay looking northeast along the shoreline.
















Picture #3 is a view of the bay and
Trinidad Head looking out to sea.

















And the last picture is the view looking down from the top of Trinidad Head. That is the lighthouse that was struck by the humongous wave.

Crescent Beach, WA

You want to know our favorite place to park our motor home? It’s up in Washington on the Strait of Juan de Fuca at Crescent Beach & RV Park. Their motto is “Surf, Sand, Serenity” and that’s for sure.
    The park doesn’t have a lot of amenities, but the view from the sites is to die for. It’s in a sheltered cove with a half-mile long beach and the strait practically at your doorstep. The area is heavily forested like many places in the northwest and deer often come down in the evening and browse. All of this makes for a very private place to just sit, admire the view, relax and take life easy.
    In the late 1800s, the area was called Port Crescent, which was envisioned as a deep-water harbor for ocean going vessels. Timber freighters were to be loaded with logs bound for foreign ports. Ambitious plans were conceived and put into operation. Port Crescent town site was laid out calling for 20,000 lots on a nearly square grid. They began dredging the harbor and almost immediately misfortune struck. A hidden reef was discovered, making it impossible to continue, so those plans were abandoned, however, the plan for the town continued. Soon there were two saloons, a couple hotels, stores and all the things that went into making a frontier town. Port Crescent continued to exist well into the 1920s, and then the town died when a fire swept through it. A careless beachcomber had left an unattended log burning on the beach. A fire on a sandy beach usually is of little concern, but unfortunately the sand was soaked with oil from the old oil house. The sand caught fire, which spread to the wharf, which spread to one of the hotels and before long all the other buildings were ablaze. Sadly today, all that is left is a postscript in the history books and the old cemetery next door to the RV park. Other than that, there is no trace of the old town.
    We‘ve spent many idyllic days there, looking out at the strait, watching big container ships and atomic submarines go by, flying my kite, strolling along the beach and venturing out, once in awhile, for some sightseeing. We haven’t been back there in a long time, but I’m sure it’s still pretty much the way we left it the last time. One family owns the whole area and they want to keep it the way they found it. And you know, in the case of Crescent Beach, I think that’s a really good idea?