A picture taken during the family's Mt. Whitney/Kern River trip of the summer of 1972.
A family tradition: after two weeks backpacking in the Sierra Nevada, it was off to picnic grounds (usually in the town of Bishop) for a feast. Our nutritional deficiencies were such that we craved odd foods, such as onions! Vitamin C, I suppose. And fried chicken! We'd eat the onions with butter on world-famous Sheepherder Bread (bought at Schat's Bakkery, Bishop). I do believe these feasts were the best part of our backpacking trips.
On these two week trips, we ate only what we could carry on our backs--and what we could fish from the lakes and creeks. Here I am fishing with my little bro Ron.
Annie was eighteen and a bit of a rebel. (Unlike me. I was an Eagle Scout.)
She actually met her future husband on this trip--at a lake near the Kern River.
They got to talking and, well, that was it, I guess--at least for Dave. When we got back to OC, Dave, who lived in Long Beach, started coming around a lot, driving a 1938 Dodge (Pontiac?), with bullet holes in the back.
He was twenty-six, a vet (Air Force), and about to graduate from Cal Poly, Pomona. Annie had just graduated from high school.
My dad took these pictures of elk during a trip in 1981 (with Ron and my mom; Annie, Ray, and I were long gone). They were at some sort of state reserve in Northern California, on the beach near the Oregon border.
A detail.
By that year, my crazy brother Ray had taken up a very odd hobby: catching rattlesnakes with his bare hands. He did this with a pal of his (his name was "Otis" or "Ferd" or something) on the family property. My dad kept comin' around and saying, "You guys are gonna get bit. Then what?" They just laughed. "No way!"
Sure enough, Ray's pal, who was older but not wiser than Ray, soon yelped and hollered. Ray drove 'im to the hospital. I think he was OK that time.
Pretty soon, the guy was back and they were catching rattlers again. We couldn't believe it. My dad made the obvious points. I don't know why he bothers.
Sure enough, there was another yowl, and off they went to the hospital again. This time, the guy lost a part of his thumb or something.
Soon, he was back again, catching more rattlers. He showed me what was left of his thumb.
I don't know what ever happened to that guy.