Friday.
We looked up the quail and it was gamble's. It was that little black patch
on the belly. Still at 299. It was that little black patch on the belly,
and the range map. The birds are almost identical, but their ranges don't
overlap. If we see a quail out here in the desert, it will be a Gamble's
Quail. If we see one closer to the coast, it will be a California Quail.
Floated the river again today. Different experiences entirely. Yesterday
was the kayaks, the only boats on the water, admiring the fish, listening to
the birds, analyzing the path of the currents at low water, searching for
sunken artifacts. Leisurely. Quiet.
Today was the twenty-eight foot patio boat. A powerboat. A pontoon boat.
Six of us. Not crowded. Room for fifteen or so. Ice chests. Music. All
the beers, pops, water we could drink. Floating quietly, except for the
conversation and music. Loud and fast at thirty-five mph. Stopping at sand
bars to get out and wander in the water. People to yell at, and wave to,
and visit with. A guided tour. Other boats and jet skis going every
direction. Drifted way way down the river. Blasted back.
Different experiences entirely, and both well worth doing.
Tomorrow. Off to visit Judy's Mom Helen in Temecula.
