Grousin' and . . . .

First, the humility report:  Mind over body works sometimes but not all the time.  I learned that for the umpteenth time yesterday after proclaiming victory over the flu.

Ha!

No so fast, lady!

That's what my body started telling me around 11 o'clock.  I even tried some snowshoeing in hopes that the extra exertion would blow away the residue of all that bad stuff attacking me from within.

The bad stuff won.  I was back on the couch by 1 p.m.  Not a happy camper either.

About 2 p.m.,  I decided that sitting in the car beat lying on the couch, so I took Foster and my camera on a short drive.  After all, it was a beautiful winter day.  

Best to take some advantage of it without fear of spreading my germs to anyone besides Foster.

One of the places where I always like to return is Grouse Creek.  There's quite a personal history with the place, and I'm sure I've recounted it before. 

Grouse Creek served as my true introduction to the great outdoors when Sis Ballenger and I worked as "the girls" for the Forest Service engineers.

With every trip up that road, images of George Agar, Dick "Huckleberry" Creed, Vern Eskridge, Grant Vess and Jim Stark come into view.

We worked and learned and laughed with these guys.  Many would become longtime friends.

It was at Grouse Creek that we named Dick Creed "Huckleberry," because during lunch-time breaks from holding tapes and abne levels as our bosses surveyed the road, Dick would take off in search of berries. 

I think just a couple of us are among an exclusive group who call him "Huckleberry," but he always seems to appreciate it.

A few years after our summer of working the Grouse Creek Road, I met Bill.  When he moved up to Idaho during the following winter, the first place I took him was to Grouse Creek.

I'll never forget his amazement at the huge stumps from logging jobs of long ago. Grouse Creek is definitely one of the best stump places around. 

I've taken horseback rides up Grouse Creek, I've taken students up there cross country skiing, we've hiked the place and Bill and I have spent a lot of time combing the areas where old Humbird camps existed.  

Besides all its historical draw for me, the place is downright beautiful----any time of the year.  

These days Bill sees the beauty of it during summer and fall afternoons and evenings when he makes the announcement, "I'm going to Grouse Creek."  

Along with him goes a fly rod and quite often a Kiwi.  Yes, our head Border Collie loves fly fishing.

Anyway, on a day when the crud kept on keeping me miserable, I enjoyed the distraction of driving to one of my favorite spots and taking some pictures.

I did worry a bit while leading Foster down the road to a spot a few hundred feet from the turnout where I had parked the car.  

Our tracks followed a set of fresh moose tracks.  

"Oh no," I thought. "Moose wouldn't strike in the same place twice."  

I was thinking of the moose encounter mentioned a couple of days ago.  It occurred just up the road from where we were walking.

Fortunate for me, the tracks kept on going south from the point where I snapped one of the photos, and I'm sure the Wes Olson logging truck that came up the road on our return to the car scared away any critters at least long enough for us to reach safety.

So, it was a good time grousing and a great break from the couch. 

Humility has set in.  I told Bill this morning that I would not be making any health assessments until at least 5 p.m. today. 

Happy Wednesday.