Reclaiming My Manhood

After six rounds, I still didn't see any bullet holes in my target.

For a second, I thought about shooting at Chris' target. If he got mad and said something, I'd just say, "Hey, I'm sorry buddy- I thought I was, uh, shooting at that S.O.B. Kennedy."

Everything is either a joke or a movie line. Occasionally, it may even be a joke from a movie line. Point is, there isn't much I take too seriously.

I previously mentioned Brian; he's Dallas Police Department and the reason I was in the position I was in. He grew up in Mesquite and went to college at Texas Lutheran. Point is, he's redneck through and through. Which means he likes guns.

Sunday morning, Brian, Larry, Chris, and I went to Garland to a shooting range Brian frequents twice a week. Larry needed to sight his scope, mine had never been sighted, and Chris and Brian just wanted to shoot some stuff up. We were still feeling bad from the time we took Brian out to play his first round of golf a few months ago. We needed to do something on his turf, something he could organize.

I hadn't fired a live round since high school. But for the occasional BB gun, I hadn't fired anything in a very long time.

Not that I think they are the exception, but the place Brian took us to is very serious about safety. The range is an open field with targets on the far end and booths on the other. About five feet behind each booth is a painted strip. Every fifteen minutes, the range calls a cease fire. Once it is called, everyone must step clear the chamber, open the bolt, and stand behind the stripe. After that, everyone is clear to walk to his target without touching anything on the booth. Upon returning behind the stripe, the range calls off the cease fire and everyone is free to shoot again. I found the regimen quite comforting, actually.

Anyway, I was a bit nervous loading my rifle. Like I said, it had been over fifteen years that I had squeezed a trigger. After shooting six rounds, I looked to see if I had hit anything. Nothing. I looked at the targets next to me and saw holes scattered around them. I didn't say anything for fear of being made fun of. I eventually told myself that the scope must be off, but I don't know enough to try to adjust it myself.

After the first cease fire and confirming that my target was still fully pristine, Chris offered to sight it in. I prayed his first shot would miss paper as well. Half a dozen shots later, he still hadn't figured it out. Brian took his turn and didn't hit paper, either.

While Brian messed around with my rifle, however, I shot his; his is a .30-06, mine a .243. I've always been comfortable with my vision and I was able to control my breathing. After unloading eight rounds, I knew they all hit their target, one landing in the eye. I could walk the football field's length and retrieve the target with pride.

It was a fun day spent with the boys. Especially experimenting with Brian's AR-15, the civilian model of the military-issued M16.

Now that the days are longer and the weather is warmer, I'm looking forward to the next outing, whatever it turns out to be.

Lunar Eclipse, 20 February 2008

Yesterday evening was the only total lunar eclipse of 2008 and the last until 21 December 2010; it was a true treat to view. Additionally, the moon was flanked on top by Regulus in Leo and to its bottom left by Saturn.

While the eclipse's totality lasted about 51 minutes, actual viewing only lasted approximately 15. The rest of the time, the moon was hidden behind dark clouds that brought steady rain during the night.

While I cannot take credit for the photo, it offers the same view from my backyard.

OML, Narrated by Robert A. Zimmerman, Part III

Zone Camping on the OML
Morning came and morning went
Pick up your money
And pack up your tent, McGuinn
You ain't goin' nowhere
- You Ain't Goin' Nowhere


Moon over Peak
That big, fat moon is gonna shine like a spoon,
But we're gonna let it,
You won't regret it.
- I'll be Your Baby Tonight


Sunset at Mountain Pass
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east.
Any day now, any day now,
I shall be released.
- I Shall be Released


Remnants of 1989 Blue Creek Canyon Fire
Oh what are those hills yonder, my love
They look as dark as night
Those are the hills of hell-fire my love
Where you and I will unite
- House Carpenter


Me
So happy just to be alive
Underneath the sky of blue
On this new morning, new morning
On this new morning with you.
- New Morning

Outer Mountain Loop, Intro: 1-4 January, 2008

The geneses for this latest hiking/camping trip are two-fold:

The first time I ever heard about the Outer Mountain Loop was in connection with a hiker dying of thirst while trying to complete the route. I immediately became intrigued and semi-obsessed. I had to learn all about I could about the route - and then complete it.

A few months later, Melissa and I visited her mother's house for the holidays. I brought along my Big Bend book and started reading about the linked trails that comprise the OML. Early one morning, I had to take Logan outside. A jogger ran by; I hate running. I thought to myself, I'd rather walk 30 miles than run 2.

As coincidence had it, the OML is a little more than 30 miles. As more coincidence had it, Chris also wanted to complete the OML. So did our father, David, and Nate. JMan was a 95% probability - but only because he got to dig catholes.

Plans were made, vacations were scheduled, and campsites were reserved. How I got permission to be gone New Year's Eve, I'll never know. I do, however, know it'll be the last time for a very long while. A very long while.

Three days before we were schedule to leave, I came down with either food poisoning or the most powerful 48-hour flu I'd ever developed. I was truly worried that I would have to back out of the trip but then I got my strength and appetite back. My dad, however, developed the same symptoms on the morning of the hike and he, unfortunately but probably for the better, was forced to pull out.

With almost a week's time to put everything in perspective, I offer the following highlights:

• This hike was much tougher than anticipated. I knew it would be difficult but I had no idea how draining it would be. To make conditions even more difficult, a cold front blew in on the 31st and made hiking, sleeping, and just being outdoors the next few days difficult. To complicate matters, the last day and a half provided wonderful weather. In fact, the last day held a high in the low 70's and I got a bit sunburned.
  

• JMan, without any other evidence to the contrary, was the first to complete the OML in 2008. Not bad for a 7 year old kid who started and ended each day with an empty stomach.
  

• All our other hikes have been destination hikes. Meaning, we hiked a good distance in order to set camp and observe something specific at the end of the trail. The OML is more marathon-like in that hiking is the primary activity and camping is only a temporary interlude from waking up and hiking some more. Sure, there are magnificent views, but they were part of the process, not the target goals.

• As usual, the MVP of personal items of the trip was my Carmex. Without it, I would have been utterly miserable. Still, it in no way compares to Fresno Creek.
  

• Ten to twelve hours inside a dark tent is a long time. Especially when only five to six are spent sleeping. You better be sure to remember where you left your headlamp.

• I can't help but to occasionally wonder about the two college kids who bailed out at Homer Wilson and didn't complete the last nine miles. How do you go back home?
  

• Thank you, J.K. If we ever meet up, the first several glasses of water are on me.

Pictures to follow soon.

Gingerbread Church, 2007

I made a gingerbread church this year with Melissa's and Hilary's assistance. One more and I'm done for a while.

My main inspiration was the Virgin of the Guadalupe Shrine, my favorite church building in Dallas, located in the Arts District of downtown.

My first thought was to replicate this church as much as possible. Instead, I made a few design changes.

On all four sides of the tower, I recreated my favorite towers: the Campanile di San Marco in Venice, the London Bridge tower, and the UT Tower, circa 2006 (stained to show the "#1" lit).

This structure is much bigger than last year's project. It features seven independent buildings, measures approximately 3.5' x 2' x 7', and has stained glass windows.

I started designing this project in my head last January; I started putting it to paper in October. I started baking the first batch of gingerbread two weekends ago.

Unfortunately, my original design did not turn out as planned. I wanted the tower to be 9 inches tall. Those crumbled and I had to start over again.

As usual, my lack of foresight has created some problems: mainly, where to store it. You'll also understand Melissa's final plea - "Next year, Neil, can you be a little less ambitious?"

Not likely.

Tell Me If This Is Fun...

Because I think it is.

But to see for yourself, try the following simulation:

Next weekend, wake up at 5 am. At 6:30, start staring at this picture for 3 hours. Go eat breakfast. After you eat, play washers for 5 hours.

A few hours before sunset, go back to the computer and sit for a few more hours staring only this picture. At sunset, go play washers for 5 more hours.

After 5 hours of sleep, do the same thing Sunday morning. You can quit sometime around noon and take a shower.

- There's a lot about government I just don't get. While I've always been entranced with the law, I still search for reasoning behind action.

Last Saturday, I went to Wal-Mart to get my license. I learned a few days prior that I had to pass a hunter's safety course and carry proof in case we got stopped by a game warden. Since I did not have to present proof of hunter's education to obtain a license, I figured I'd get the license and then take an on-line course. Sunday, I learned that I could take the test but I'd also have to do a 4-5 hour field trip to satisfy minimal requirements, such a marksmanship. There's no way I could do that by the time we were going to Valley Mills. Friday morning, I learned that I could request a deferral and still hunt within the law. Before I did that, however, I remembered that I had taken, and passed, the test when I was fifteen years old and in Boy Scouts. I called Texas Parks & Wildlife and within five minutes, I had requisite proof that I was a responsible and safe hunter.

To bottom line the story, the State of Texas deemed that I, at the age of fifteen, was safe enough to handle a loaded weapon but not capable of driving an automobile.

Through the lifetime exemption granted after passing the course for the first time, the State of Texas further deemed that I would retain the same information for the rest of my life.

Brilliant.

[Yes, I fully understand the funding mechanism of renewal fees. But there should be more to public safety than a perpetual fiscal function.]

When Melissa verified this absurdity, we both commented our surprise that in Texas, hunter's licenses aren't distributed along with birth certificates.

- I figured out early Saturday morning that I lead a very "The Importance of Being Earnest" life.

I fully enjoy the availability of urban resources; I am completely comfortable with the ease of consumerism and the preppy lifestyle I've chosen. I am a city boy when I'm in the city.

When I'm in the country, I fully enjoy the extraction of many modern facilities; I am completely comfortable with inconvenience caused by rural isolation. I am a country boy when I'm in the country.

Actually, I'm somewhere in the middle. I enjoy wearing my boots and a Brooks Brothers shirt. I enjoy sitting around a campfire and checking e-mail, sending text messages, and checking football scores with the same wireless device.

- Most of my hobbies often require waking well before dawn. While participating in those hobbies [hiking, golf, hunting, etc.], I am more than happy to sacrifice many hours of sleep. When the alarm goes off, I don't need a snooze button to delay rising.

But ask me to wake up after sunrise and go to a place where I can earn a living to help pay for those hobbies and I am suddenly always tired and must hit the snooze button a couple of times before I can get going.

I don't get it.

New Mexico/Arizona - 19-23 May 2007

Much of my life is ruled by the Law of Diminishing Returns. Briefly, this economic law states that additional input toward a particular repeated action decreases the marginal yield.

As much of my life is necessarily repetitious (driving, working, eating, sleeping etc., etc.), doing more of it doesn't automatically mean I'll enjoy it more. So over the past several years, I have attempted to shift my focus to the moments that break this law.

Hiking is one of them. Besides simplifying my life, hiking is what brings everything back to base zero and re-sets the meter. When Chris first mentioned Havasu as a hiking destination, I readily agreed; after all, this is but prelude to the Outer Mountain Loop.

Since hiking in nature is automatically a pleasure, hiking companions strengthen the experience. I always enjoy hiking with my father, brother, and Brian. I haven't hiked with Dave since I was a teenager; it was my first time to hike with Jackson, Andria, and Mason.

Also for this trip, I wanted to try to bring more of my everyday life with me. I read a quote somewhere that going to the back country shouldn't be roughing it - it should be smoothing it.

I quickly learned that it is more practical in theory. While planning my food rations, I wanted to cook some simple meals that I would cook in my own kitchen.

The first meal turned out great - couscous with sun dried tomatoes and dried herbs in pita bread. It was delicious and executed to near perfection. The second meal didn't turn out all. I hiked 10 miles with 6 fresh eggs in my backpack and cooled them in the river not thirty feet from our camp site with the intention of making egg salad sandwiches in the morning. The next morning, Jackson somehow managed to break all six eggs in about 10 seconds.

What follows are pictures and quotations, with one exception, provided by Mr. John Muir, with my observations.


"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play and pray in, where Nature may heal and cheer and give strength to body and soul alike."

The Blue Hole in Santa Rosa, NM. These are the most pristine waters I have ever visited. 81 feet deep, 61 degrees in temperature, they are also the most brisk waters I have ever visited.




"Wander here a whole summer, if you can. Thousands of God's wild blessings will search you and soak as if you were a sponge, and the big days will go by uncounted."

The Tepees Area of the Painted Desert.

"Above, the bad lands stretch on either hand. This is the region of the Painted Desert, for the marls and soft rocks of which the hills are composed are of many colors - chocolate, red, vermillion, pink, buff, and gray; and the naked hills are carved in fanstastic forms. - John Wesley Powell, The Exploration of the Colorado River and Its Canyons (1875)

The Painted Desert is a marvellously isolated and desolate area. Its beauty is underscored by the petrified remains of the forests that once anchored these lands.

The bad lands show the process of nature's change. Layers of sandstone, clay, siltstone, and hematite highlight the colorful landscape.

"No matter how far you have wandered hither to, or how many famous gorges and valleys you have seen, this one, the Grand Canyon...will seem as novel to you, as unearthly in the color and grandeur and quantity of its architecture, as if you had found it after death, on some other star; so incomparably lovely and grand and supreme is it above all the other canons in our fire molded, earthquake shaken, rain washed, wave washed, river and glacier sculptured world."

This was my first trip to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. Putting the visual perspective into words is near impossible; pictures reveal about a tenth of what the eye may capture.

"Deserts are charming to those who know how to see them."

My favorite places to hike - forests and deserts - are on opposite ends of the ecological spectrum. While the beauty of a forest is self-evident, it takes a different perspective to enjoy the beauty of a desert.

Time appears to slow down in the desert; life is more fragile and its residents are tougher.

"Every excursion I have made in all my rambling life has been fruitful and delightful from the smallest indefinite saunter an hour or two in length to the noblest summer's flight with steadyaim like a crusader bound for the Holy Land or a bird to its northern home following the flight of the seasons."

The desert goes through its own evolution. Canyons shift and rocks fall. This change disturbs shelters that took generations to form and creates new shelters for several more generations. The boulders that fall from the cliffs are not diminutive; many are the size of the kitchen in our house.

Every human, no matter what his wild disposition, would find his own way, if only he looked for it....Somewhere, if he wandered freely enough, he would enter the flow and begin to take his strength from the fountains."

Havasu Falls, 2 miles from the town of Supai, AZ and 10 miles from the trailhead. The falls drop 120 feet and create its own wind system to keep the swimming area cool on the hottest of days.

B'rer Rabbit, Uncle Wiggly, and Stevie Ray

I woke up with the sun on Saturday morning to hike part of Cedar Ridge Reserve, a natural preserve maintained by the Audobon Society of Dallas. The preserve is a 600-acre habitat with over 10 miles of hiking trails. I would only hike approximately 5 of those miles.


I wanted to get an early start and I'm glad I did. First, the Texas summers start early and finish late. Second, I would encounter fewer people being the first one out. I only saw a Boy Scout troop from Midlothian training for another hike and a couple who just stepped off an REI photo shoot.

My day pack was simple enough - a sandwich, grapes, banana, and a liter of water.


About 10 minutes into the hike, a rabbit crossed my path. He stopped and stared at me for several seconds. He only jumped into the woods as I reached for my camera; regardless, I managed a decent shot of him.
I was surprised at the undulation of the area. The Dallas I'm used to is the concrete encapsulated shopping areas where the only altitude change is the one occurred on the escalator.


The area was quite woodsy - quite a bit more than I expected. While it helped keep the sun out, it also kept the humidity in. Yesterday's rain also made for some large mud holes on the dirt path. The society did a good job of putting planks to walk across - except for one. Walking through it, my left shoe slipped off and stayed in the mud.


It was a quick retreat, but one immensely enjoyed.

There was only one downside from the experience. I've come to the conclusion that certain people don't have any business participating in certain activities.

If you can't take a walk in the woods without packing out your trash, you don't belong out there; I hope there's a special ring in Dante's Inferno reserved for those people.

Alea Iacta Est

Sometimes it pays to have an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and to be just a little bit on the geeky side.

Many people before have asked why I collect so many books. I can only provide the response that best sums it up: I hate being without answers; if I want to know something, I want to have a reference that immediately provides the correct answer.

I don't care how arcane the reference - at some point, I'll want to know. Like Gordon Gekko said - "The most valuable commodity I know of is information."

I read a couple of months ago that two of the supporting characters in Rome, Vorenus and Pullo, are based on real persons of the same names.

Curiosity got the best of me, as it usually does. Once I got home, I located my copy of Caesar's Commentaries on the Gallic War. In Book V, Chapter LXIV, Caesar himself writes of two Centurions, Lucuis Vorenus and Titus Pullo, who were of near equal strength and bravery.

The 355 words written by Gaius Julius over 2,000 year ago about these two warriors are the only historical record we have of their existence. Why their story was included is of great interest considering Pullo later supported Caesar's opponent in the civil war.

Reading these stories last night made me think:

Caesar was lucky in that his Rubicon was actually the Rubicon. The barrier he had to cross was both literal and figurative.

I've always wondered what mine is.

Because It's There.

If I'm often quizzical about the motivations behind my own actions, I'm just downright ignorant about the motivations of others.

I'm reading No Shortcuts to the Top by Ed Viesturs.

I can honestly say that I don't subscribe to the George Mallory rationale for mountaineering.

The things I have to do because they're there are different. None of them relate to securing myself to a rope several thousand feet over a crevasse. None of them risk edema of any kind or the self-cannibalism for caloric content that occurs at extremely high altitudes.

Not that I mind discomfort. The most misery I anticipate doing things I have to do, however, involve brief bouts of hunger and thirst, lack of sleep, and sore feet.

For instance, I can, and have, looked at the Outer Mountain Loop and said to myself, I have to do that.

Same goes for Yosemite and certain portions of the AT.

I can honestly say that there are will always be some portion of me that will not be at rest until I have checked those off my list.

Viesturs, intentionally or not, passes on some lessons that are pertinent to all parts of life, not just alpine hiking.

As the title suggests, there are no shortcuts. Stop looking for them.

Another one I've learned over the past couple of months is to expect nothing but be prepared for anything.

The most important one, however: you can't fully appreciate the view unless you've made the climb yourself.

Like I said, the things I have to do because they're there are different.

Where My Thoughts Have Been

The past couple of weeks, two separate items have remained in the forefront of my thoughts.

The first is one verse from Miranda Lambert's song Kerosene:

Life ain't hard but it's too long to live it like some country song.

The second is a story I heard a while back but its metaphors are omni-relevant.

A guy named Richard Salinas and his hiking buddy took off one day to the Pisgah National Forest in North Carolina in October of 1990. Salinas was an experienced hiker; I'm not sure about his friend.

From the little information I can gather, this was just meant to be a day hike, probably in the 10 to 15 mile range. Probably snacks, water, and whatever daytime equipment they thought would be necessary were brought with them. Overnight and other emergency items, for whatever reason, were not included.

As darkness approached, Salinas and his friend started to head back to their car which had been left in the parking lot at the trail head.

Somehow, Salinas and his friend became separated.

As temperatures dropped, Salinas, as much as I can imagine, became mentally and physically vulnerable to the elements. He deviated from the defined trail path and became further enmeshed in the wilderness. He became completely disoriented and walked in an opposite direction of the trail head.

As he became more desperate, he also became more weary. He disposed of the few items he had that perhaps could have prevented his hike from becoming fatal.

Three days later, his knapsack and jacket were found deep in the wilderness. His body wasn't found until three months after that; it was found snagged in a bush near the river.

For some reason, I don't find it a sad story, although it is. More than anything, I find it wildly inspiring and deeply didactic.

I became so interested in this story that I looked up pictures of Pisgah. Indeed, it is a very dense forest.

I can easily imagine becoming temporarily disoriented and losing connection with North, East, South, and West - particularly if the sun were not visible. If losing sense of direction were so difficult to do, the compass and more modern GPS units would be unnecessary. After all, they are just tangible reminders of where we are in relation to where we are going.

But what I can't imagine is purposefully deviating from the worn path.

And since I have your attention, here's another story.

The Salinas story was part of a bigger story of Bill Bryson and his buddy hiking the Appalachian Trail. Bryson, like Salinas, was an experienced hiker; his buddy was not.

Bryson would often walk ahead at his own pace, every five miles or so waiting for his companion to catch up. One day, Bryson waited and waited; his friend did not arrive.

Bryson back-tracked several miles and still did not find him. He encountered other hikers who had not seen his friend. Desperate but unable to do anything further, Bryson pitched camp and resumed the search the following morning.

Mid-morning, his friend was found - scratched, hungry, and scared. He lost the path and tried to find his way back. He missed it again and tried to back-track to the point of where he first got lost. Instead, he went deeper into the woods. He walked in all directions hoping to find the path. When darkness fell, he pitched his tent and resumed his self-rescue in the morning. Somehow, he accidentally came across the defined AT trail the next morning, minutes before Bryson found him.

Coming back to the path, Bryson's hiking buddy never stepped foot off it again.

Losing yourself can range from the embarrassing to the deadly. Finding yourself first instills the promise to never do it again.

Chickasaw, Part IV

A prescribed burn.

"For when the killing fires have devoured the leaves and thin resinous bark, many of the cones, only scorched, open as soon as the smoke clears away; the hoarded store of seeds is sown broadcast on the cleared ground, and a new growth immediately springs up triumphant out of the ashes."

The ecotone (my Word of the Day on my biodegradable wilderness toilet paper) is magnificent. Forest trees surrounded by prairie grasses remind visitors of the transition from one ecology to the other.

The springs in the foothills of the Arbuckle Wilderness set a scene for the wonderful transfer.

"The plants are as busy as the animals, every cell in a swirl of enjoyment, humming like a hive, singing the old new song of creation."

Following Travertine Creek to its origin, one will find several sycamore lining the stream.

"I never saw a discontented tree. They grip the ground as though they liked it; and though fast rooted, they travel about as far as we do."

Antelope Springs, a very sacred place to the original inhabitants, the Chickasaw.

"Tracing rivers to their fountains makes the most charming of travels. As the life blood of the landscapes, the best of the wilderness comes to their banks, and not one dull passage is found in all their eventful histories."

Bear Falls.

I wondered how the name was derived as bear are not common to these Southern latitudes. But looking at this picture, the mossy land mass takes on a Bev Doolittle semblance of a thirsty bear sticking its head out of the falls to lap up the falling water.

"...ungovernable energy, rushing down smooth inclines in wide foamy sheets fold over fold, springing up here and there in magnificent whirls, scattering crisp clashing spray for the sunbeams to iris, bursting with hoarse reverberating roar through ragged gorges and boulder dams, booming in falls, gliding, glancing with cool soothing, murmuring...."

Chickasaw, Part III

I would walk 6 miles the next afternoon; I averaged about 20 minutes per mile with few rests to take pictures. About a mile in, one will come into a canyon before making an elevated climb up the other side of the hill.

"I wish I knew where I was going. Doomed to be carried of the spirit into the wilderness,' I suppose. I wish I could be more moderate in my desires, but I cannot, and so there is no rest."

Most of the walk would be a leisurely saunter.

I would see no fresh human tracks that day. The only new imprints I would encounter would be made by deer and wildcat.

"But in every walk with Nature one receives far more than he seeks."

A very nice place for lunch.

By this time, wind gusts of up to 40 mph would whip through the trees; this grove would provide a nice temporary cover.

In my day pack, I brought two ham sandwiches, chips, and a chocolate bar for dessert. I would also bring the usual trail fare - a hydration pack, jerky, dried fruit, and mixed nuts.

"We find in the fields of Nature no place that is blank or barren; every spot on land or sea is covered with harvests, and these harvests are always ripe and ready to be gathered and no toiler is ever underpaid."

Trail One is used for hikers and horses. It is wider and frequently traveled during better weather.

Trail Three, pictured above, is a bit overgrown and rougher. It would be my favorite of the two.

"The forests of America, however slighted by man, must have been a great delight to God; for they were the best He ever planted."

I know of no other way to better spend an evening - weary legs, a peaceful mind, being comforted by the fire and looking back on the day's events.

"Around your camp fire the flowers seem to be looking eagerly at the light, and the crystals shine unweariedly, making fine company as you lie at rest in the very heart of the vast, serene, majestic night."

Chickasaw, Part II

My bedroom for two evenings.

The first night, the tarps protected me from the rain. A dryline had set up on the Western portion of Oklahoma during the morning. Later that evening, an upper level trough bringing moisture would create a squall line from Northern to Southern Oklahoma.

On the receiving end of the squall line: me.

The second night, however, the blue tarp was removed to view stars.

As the Great Hunter, Orion, chases Scorpio across the sky, its alpha star, Antares, will soon appear prominent in the early Eastern sky during the Summer months.

On Saturday night, a waxing gibbous moon passed between Orion's belt and Castor and Pollux, the Gemini twins.

"You may be a little cold some nights, on mountain tops above the timber-line, but you will see the stars, and by and by you can sleep enough in your town bed, or at least in your grave."

The view above Bromide Hill overlooking Rock Creek.

The hill was once called Robber's Roost; local lore is that brigands would perch atop this hill to select which westward travelers they would hold up.

The town of Sulphur lies just beyond.

"See how God writes history. No technical knowledge is required; only a calm day and a calm mind."

The setting sun as seen from Veterans' Lake. The low lying clouds would soon turn black and bring a ferocious rain that would last from midnight until 6 a.m.

"Storms of every sort, torrents, earthquakes, cataclysms, "convulsions of nature", etc., however mysterious and lawless at first sight they may seem, are only harmonious notes in the song of creation, varied expressions of God's love."

The next morning, a few deer came to view.

"Deer give beautiful animation to the forests, harmonizing finely in their color and movements with the gray and brown shafts of the trees as they stand in groups at rest..."

I am not much of an ornithologist. Were I, however, this would be a wonderful place to further that particular hobby. No matter where I traveled within the park, birds of all species could be found.

"Nature is a good mother, and sees well to the clothing of her many bairns-birds with smoothly imbricated feathers, beetles with shining jackets, and bears with shaggy furs. In the tropical south, where the sun warms like a fire, they are allowed to go thinly clad; but in the snowy northland she takes care to clothe warmly."

Chickasaw, Part I

I wanted to leave Friday morning with only one stated goal: to go to a place I had never been.

My wife allowed me to leave only after stating another: to return home alive.

Upon telling my male family members and friends of my upcoming travels, the responses were similar to, Man, sounds like fun. You should have a good trip.

Upon my wife telling her female friends and family members of my upcoming travels, the responses were similar to, He's not going! He could die. He could get lost then die.

My favorite was from Nicole stating matter-of-factly: "You're gonna be like that climber [Aron Ralston] from a few years ago who had to chop his arm off. Great! You're gonna come back with one arm!"

To assure my wife that this was a well-planned and safe venture, I took her along to help pick out the small things I would need: propane, waterproof matches, rope, and a tarp . A couple of nights a week, I'd show her how to to tie knots figuring she'd have more confidence in my ability to stay alive if I knew how to tie a few proper knots. I don't know what this proved, but apparently it worked.

So over the past few weeks, I've done as much preparation as I could in order to leave her a detailed itinerary. It also assured I wouldn't miss out on anything. I've written before that I don't take any trip without obsessive planning; this would prove to be the same, even to the point of hanging my new tarp in my living room to make sure it would be just as I wanted.

While researching the trails, I came across a web page devoted to John Muir. Most of what I know about Muir is related to his relationship with Theodore Roosevelt. TR once said that Muir was even more eloquent in speech than in prose. If that's the case, I would have loved to have met the man.

I became more interested in Muir to the point going on this trip became a necessity and not just a mere desire.

Or as Muir once wrote, "I was compelled to sleep with the trees in the one great bedroom of the open night."

Regarding my safety, I forwarded the following to Melissa: "Yet it is far safer to wander in God's woods than to travel on black highways or stay home." and "One should go to the woods for safety, if for nothing else."

It would be a good trip.

And Nikkums, I'm typing with both arms, thank you.

[As I post pictures, I will provide my own commentary. In italics, I will also provide a quote provided by Mr. Muir that gives additional insight and inspiration.]

This Land Is My Land; It Used to be Your Land...(Second Verse, Same as the First)

Just a half-century after its founding, the United States and its population already began to exceed its capacity for serviceable land. Although the term "Manifest Destiny" would not exist for another two decades, it was obvious the only room for growth was toward the sunset.

Enter the founding member of the modern Democrat Party - Old Hickory, himself.

Fresh from his victories over the Seminole and Creek, Andrew Jackson convinced Congress to give him the authority to purchase land and negotiate treaties with the Original Americans.

Riddle me this: why would an Indian War hero turned public official feel compelled to purchase or otherwise negotiate for anything that he as an Army commander would just take?

[Although I think Jackson is the leading candidate for the worst president, he did provide my favorite presidential quote: "Never trust a man who has only one way to spell a word."]

Soon thereafter, gold was discovered on tribal lands and it became even more urgent the white man obtain ownership of these lands; and to use a term that became popular some 13 decades later, by any means necessary. Problem was, it was already owned by another nation.

The State of Georgia brilliantly tried to bypass the Constitution; because some tribal lands existed within the state boundaries, Georgia argued, the state could compel a sovereign nation to abide by its rules. The 1832 Supreme Court decision Worchester v. Georgia respectfully disagreed and rightfully negated Georgia's jurisdiction on Cherokee land.

Re-enter President Jackson and his solution before the Final Solution - tell the chiefs of the Five Civilized Tribes there is enough land out West for all of them - better hunting grounds, maybe not as sacred as the land they currently owned, but it could be with the right amount of time; more water; and best of all, do the U.S. government this one favor and the white man would never bother them again; just trust us.

This policy culminated in the Trail of Tears.

A sect of the Chocktaw tribe, the Chickasaw, ended up in Southern Oklahoma. In time, they found land that became sacred to them; they called it "Peaceful Valley of Rippling Waters". The land straddled the Eastern deciduous forest and the Western prairie. As such, the flora and fauna were both plentiful and diverse; the area later known as the Seven Springs was sacred for the spring's medicinal powers.

While Reconstruction reformed the South, those that didn't want to be reformed (mainly crooks, debtors, speculators, and those who would rather roam the desert than live with scallywags and carpetbaggers) followed the sound advice of Horace Greeley; Forts Arbuckle and Washita provided protection from the Plains Indians while the Topeka and Santa Fe railroads provided the transportation out West. In fact, Lt. Colonel Custer fought Black Kettle and the Cheyenne near the Washita River eight years before he would face Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse as a general a thousand miles away at Little Bighorn.

Confounding the Indians with the brilliant legal jargon and immutable precedent that nobody called "No backs touching black" when the original treaties were signed, white settlers found gold again on tribal land (this time the black, liquid, underground kind) and incorporated a town immediately north of the Chickasaw tribal lands; they called it Sulphur Springs.

Beginning to think the U.S. government didn't take its promises seriously, the tribe decided to sell 640 acres at $20 per, well whatever was left after the Dawes Commission took theirs. Theodore Roosevelt (my favorite president of all time, by the way), not wanting this land, which included the springs, to be purchased by private developers, signed enabling legislation in 1902 that created a national park to be known as the Platt District.

The original area has since expanded its borders to include lakes Arbuckle and Veterans; in its entirety, the locality is now known as the Chickasaw National Recreation Area.

Risking extremely wet weather, this is where I hope to rest my head this weekend.

I love technology, but not as much as you, you see. But I STILL love technology. Always and Forever.

Nothing distresses me more than owning an item and not knowing its full capacity. During my break today, I learned more about mobile blogging. I'm not yet sure of its frequency or long-term usage, but it would have upset me too much knowing of its availability but inaccessibility due to my own ignorance.

To make this world an even more dangerous place, I can now e-mail text or pictures from my mobile phone and have it link to this blog in less than 15 seconds.

The first two tests are pictures I took from my phone. The first was in Austin last October; the second was at a football game last December.

Aside from technology allowing me this function, I'm initially in awe at how well the service is provided. The photos allow for amazing clarity and resolution.

Thoughts On A Quiet Friday

Each night since Tuesday, I've watched the House of Representatives debate H. Con. Res. 63. If I'm around Saturday, I'll watch the other house attempt to take up the same debate.

This is the resolution that makes official Congress' disapproval of the president's plan to increase the troop level by 21,500.

I've followed the debate with several thoughts:

1) The fact that lawmakers who find the war in Iraq (the concurrent resolution doesn't mention Afghanistan) so immoral and unnecessary, so void of substance and leadership, so wasteful of resources that could otherwise be used domestically, and so diametrically opposite its declared mission that the best they can do is pass verbiage that has no force of law is beyond me. I also like the provision for one motion to recommit without instructions; that was a nice touch.

2) Concurrent Resolutions are sometimes constitutionally necessary but generally useless. Going on record without creating a record is like shouting in a canyon. It creates a lot of noise but the only one hearing it is the one doing the yelling.

To show the gravity of the resolution to passed, one only has to look at other concurrent resolutions and their subject matter. The preceding resolution, H. Con. Res. 62, voices and affirms the Congress' support of National Children and Families Day, which is the 4th Saturday of June.

Maybe the phrase "generally useless" is not strong enough.

3) It's often said that the most dangerous place is between an elected official and a camera. Still, I'm a huge defender of using C-SPAN cameras to stay in contact with district voters; it's the cost of a representative republic.

Since I'm watching late at night in Eastern time, I also understand I'm watching the congressional equivalent of the 7,8, and 9 hitters. The high-profile speakers have expended their allotted five minutes to correspond with their district's media deadlines and I'm fine with that.

Still, I'm stunned at the lack of coherent and eloquent arguments; I'm embarrassed at how many speakers on both sides of the aisle seemingly read their speech for the first time on the floor, rarely looking up, and even rarer, enunciating key phrases of key sentence.

I'm not looking for an equivalant to Henry Clay. I'm looking for somebody to speak with minimal passion, reason, and eloquence; I'm finding robotic talking points.

As much as I love parlaimentary procedure, one should not fully rely on unanimous consent to revise and extend to make their argument for them.

4) Each decade has its own unique balance of power. In the Seventies, Congress dominated the other two branches. In the Eighties, power, assumed and de facto, moved to the other end of Pennsylvania Avenue. The Nineties - I'd argue that the White House and Congress checked each other out of power to the benefit of the Rehnquist Court.

This decade will probably end up with the Congress taking back the lead in shaping public debate, but with different institutional results. The Senate has shown itself to be a high school debate club where invoking cloture is getting harder and harder; on the other side, however, the Speaker has monopolized power like none since Carl Albert - but at the expense of the Majority Leader. I'm not sure that's wise.

Out Back

"Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion? Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season? or canst thou guide Arcturus with his sons?" -Job 38:31-32

I spent a fairly good amount of time outdoors looking at the January sky over the weekend nights. It was not optimum viewing in that I developed a nagging cough late last week; however, it was necessary in that Saturday and Sunday night offered consecutive cloudless skies, a first for this year, I believe.

My only complaint of our house is that it offers poor visibility of the northern horizon. From the backyard, however, southern, eastern, and western vantages are largely unobscured.

Late last December, I had spent some time observing the constellation of Orion as it is one of the largest in the winter sky and deceptionally larger against the horizon. While some of the key components of this constellation are easily discernible (the belt and the shield), others are not (the hunter's body, limbs, and sword) and must take some imagination to put together.

Regardless, the stars that comprise this constellation are fascinating to observe in themselves. Rich red stars mixed with fiery blue stars; a nebula and some binaries - that always makes for good observing.

I'm not sure why this phenomenon is so interesting to me, but I spent a good part of each evenings with two stars of lesser importance in my binocular's view. They are not anywhere close to each other, in fact separated by some seven-hundred light years, but against the flat surface of the dark sky, appear to be right next to each other.

Regardless, there's something immensely enriching about shutting up, standing outside in the dark, and looking up.

Now Watergate Does Not Bother Me. Does Your Conscience Bother You?

Watergate has always intrigued me. Not so much why it was planned and almost executed to perfection, but why this caper has remained such a watershed moment in our nation's political history.

To me, Watergate is the premiere example of political naivete and hypocrisy. The party that expresses shock and horror that political espionage occurred in a presidential race quickly develops a short-term memory when it comes to similar maneuvers from their own party.

About ten years ago, I undertook a sophomoric attempt at unmasking the identity of Deep Throat. My copy of All The President's Men became dog-eared several times over and now has notes down the sides of pages. I wanted my own Pelican Brief of sorts to show the world that I knew all along.

My case was logical, pragmatic, and completely reasonable; it was also completely and entirely wrong.

As such, 31 May 2005 was the best and worst day of my life.

I bring all of this up for two reasons:

First, E. Howard Hunt passed away yesterday.

Second, C-SPAN. It's the only channel on which I'll view the State of the Union address. It also got a brief mention from the president last night.

Transparency in government and its facilitator, C-SPAN, is a by-product of the Watergate era. And in a quasi-ironic twist of events, no party has benefited more from C-SPAN than the Republican party. And no one individual has benefited from C-SPAN more than Newt Gingrich.

Now that's Nixonian.