Because you had to know where to look, taking Barb to Dog Canyon reminded me of Gone Away Lake, my favorite book as a child. Unmapped, it was due east of Highway 54, the road that crossed the border into New Mexico, about ninety minutes away from the neighborhood where we went to high school. I had discovered it a decade earlier on a weekend off-road drive with my father.
Once again, Dad's wheels provided the transportation on an unmarked gravel track through arid scrub to the foothills of the Sacramento Mountains with the tape deck blasting Led Zeppelin. I'm not sure Barb ever had heard "Stairway to Heaven" at the right volume. That blue and gray Pendleton shirt still keeps me warm.
We hiked a mile or two to what really felt like an oasis, even in the mild March sun.
A skull-like rock formations offered a great framing opportunity. The photo of Barb that begins this entry remains one of my favorite portraits. It almost captures her joie de vivre.
We couldn't believe we found water in the desert. "It must be snowmelt," I explained.
Time for an outdoor shower, probably my first!
We slaked our thirst with a Dr. Pepper from the ice chest afterwards. It took a scanner and a computer to enlarge most of these photos for the first time nearly five decades later. I've never been back.
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