Ramblin'........

Rebel....Summer 1980 ....Bemidji, MN

It was only through Dylan that he found Woody. There were early signs that the romance of the rail was strong in his mind and heart. At too young an age, he would walk the tracks near his childhood home, eating his lunch up under the bridges, pretending.

Music has always contributed to this very 'real' fantasy. And after coming of age, with similar adventures in mind, Dylan simply put poetry in motion. In his Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie, he contributes to the folklore, written as Woody lay dying in an old state hospital. So hard to let go, so important to keep going.

Bad moon rising...............

Dipping into the rations of cheap beer, they spoke of that day sailing in the San Juan Islands. Not often, but becoming increasingly important to each of them, they had searched out the solitude that this quiet bay provides.

When men spend a few days on a boat, lacking the ability to gain personal space, a certain level of cooperation develops. Once the constant bantering and humorous jousting subsides, they relax, accept, and actually enjoy each other’s presence. Well moored in this bay, protected by rocky barriers, minds drifted to and fro with the tide.

Suddenly, like a blast from a foghorn with words, they snapped to attention, only to see this gigantic yacht approaching their small sturdy craft. “We wish to moor alongside you,” the captain shouted through the bullhorn from the top deck, nearly fifty feet above the water.

Resuming the position, they observed in amazement as the huge symbol of wealth maneuvered into its final resting location. Two hydraulic arms rotated to each side of the family vessel, and they watched as each of the captains’ two children were lowered down to the water in speedboats. Within a minute or two, they sped off, and the servants prepared dinner for the proud parents looking down on us from the top rail.

For some reason, or perhaps for obvious reasons, the men started up again with the relentless personal jabbing and insults. It was if they had received a reminder how hard it is to get away.

Men will be boys......

Straight and level..........

Engineers and land surveyors work in all kind of conditions. No matter if he is squeezing new development into the property grid of Chicago, or following the wide open terrain of the Mexican Baja, it all needs to be....straight and level.

Happy Birthday Brother!

Collapse.....or just talk?

Collapse…….
break down, literally or metaphorically; "The wall collapsed"; "The business collapsed"; "The dam broke"; "The roof collapsed"; "The wall gave in"; "The roof finally gave under the weight of the ice"

It does not take one long to see the similarities. After a fair review of the available writings describing the first steps of friends, fellow soldiers, and countrymen away from one another, heading north and south, and into the U.S. Civil War, what began as a stab of a rumor, became a complete gutting of our national personality. We cannot assume that our problems will be solved by ‘others,’ much as Robert E. Lee remarked, “certainly men of reason will step in and end this chaos.”

If we are in the early stages of an economic and cultural collapse, it can be assumed that we will be the last to know how 'real' it really is. This is not about panic. This is a time for conversation. Yes, we should be talking with each other about our lives. What do we view as essential to our “pursuit of happiness,” and what can we eliminate in order to reduce our need to provide for it.

The soldiers huddled together in groups, separated by home states. They would eventually agree to return home to fight and kill the very men they stood with just months before. They would defend an imaginary state line and an ideology that they had been inoculated with by politicians, by stabbing their bayonet through the chest of those who, “thought differently.”

Engineering a cooperative spirit.....

He has been thinking about the future. Even if we can become transparent enough to allow the real science to surface, open minded enough to allow the many voices to be heard, muster up enough political will to to break up the networks feeding the status quo, and develop the tolerance to accept the spectrum of color and culture, both here and in the community of nations, one question lingers. How can we possibly coordinate the behavioral changes needed around the world? What historical evidence of cooperation and coordination do we have to pattern from?

O' brothers....where art thou?

Anything too easy has questionable value.

We knew it would be a long way up to the high country. The end of this rocky trail promised mountain views, lakes teeming with cutthroats, and a place where three brothers and their father could bond. To be sure, the oldest brother insisted on strapping cartons of Coors to our packs, and using his endurance barometer, set a steady but brutal pace for the furthest point on the trail map. The old man groaned and moaned every mile or so.

Early the first morning, before the second cup, they walked down the path to the shore. Toting their rods and reels, they decided to move further to the other side where the river entered the lake. The sun was still short of cresting the ridge, and the river was heavy with flow. The brother saw the shadows first. Closer inspection brought smiles to them all. The trout were lined up from bank to bank like the Russian army. Scrambling for bait and rig combinations recanted from barbershop magazines, they attacked the opportunity.

This was a rare collision of providence and desire.

But through all the fun and success using the newest fishing technologies to produce our dinner, one of us, the middle son, (his mother often thought he would become a man of the cloth, and he did, albeit Japanese cloth), decided to do it an old fashioned way. Sitting along the stream, he quietly sharpened a spear. And though it took a while for him to perfect his craft, while we were hoisting our catch on a skewer, he walked out of the river with a trout on his spear, his way.

Wrong place....but a good time.

Admitting to dancing with a chair at a lively nightclub is pathetic, at best. But in Florida beach towns the ratio of hims to hers almost guarantees a good time. But no, he and his friend were simply having too much fun to share it intelligently or even romantically with someone else. It was one of those college trips where the phrase, “this is insane,” was heard many times.

As he crossed the parking lot he looked back to see his buddy attempting to bring his dancing chair with him. They naturally headed for the beach and the surf. The pickup truck with the camper top, that all eight called home for the week, was parked at the usual spot right, on the beach. Only in Daytona.

They agreed without saying so, that even though it was late, they were not ready for the snoring and the gaseous exchange that the certainly awaited them in the camper. So they stripped down and a moment later they were naked and running out into the ocean tide as it began to rise in the early morning hours. Looking back he could see the lights of the hotels lining the beach. And then turning eastward he could only see the darkness. He liked the darkness.

Suddenly, and that word clearly describes the abrupt sensation of a truck tire rubbing across his thigh. It took about three ticks to register that perhaps night feeding was under way. He looked back at his friend, some twenty feet away and heard him scream out loudly, yet somewhat muffled by his own preoccupation with survival.

They both were panic swimming and then high stepping until they felt dry sand under their feet. “Did you feel that?......yeah!....that was so cool.” Though never wanting to admit this either, but that moment changed his thinking on ocean swimming, at least at night.

Perspective counts......

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young


May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift

May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
May you stay forever young

May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you stay forever young
.............bob dylan

The demons and angels of Desolation Peak.......

He had traveled with companion’s south on Ross Lake from the Canadian side by canoe. After a few nights on a small island in the middle of the fjord-like lake, right at the base of Desolation Peak, they decided it was time to climb.

He had a mission of course. He had read the tales from his beat author hero Kerouac about the summer spent in the fire tower at the top. The words still haunted him, and this could only be resolved by seeing the cabin himself.

Jack Kerouac spent 63 days during the summer of 1956 as a fire lookout on Desolation Peak, in North Cascades National Park. He wrote about his experiences in the book "Desolation Angels".

The trail to the lookout is 7 miles one way from the water’s edge at Ross Lake. On the way up he considered the words Kerouac later wrote to describe his initial reactions upon reaching the remote cabin…..

I gulped. It was too dark and dismal to like it. "This will be my home and resting place all summer?"

When I get to the top of Desolation Peak and everybody leaves on mules and I'm alone I will come face to face with God or Tathagata and find once and for all what is the meaning of all this existence and suffering and going to and fro in vain" but instead I'd come face to face with myself....

The book is essential when exploring the individual demons that rest dormant in our psyches, only to surface when distractions are distant. Again Kerouac writes…..

Those afternoons, those lazy afternoons, when I used to sit, or lie down, on Desolation Peak, sometimes on the alpine grass, hundreds of miles of snowcovered rock all around, looming Mount Hozomeen on my north, vast snowy Jack to the south, the encharmed picture of the lake below to the west and the snowy hump of Mt. Baker beyond, and to the east the rilled and ridged monstrosities humping to the Cascade Ridge, and after that first time suddenly realizing "It's me that's changed and done all this and come and gone and complained and hurt and joyed and yelled, not the Void" ...

The hike, nearly straight up for miles above the lake was exhausting, but ultimately rewarding, as he was able to see the views Kerouac described so eloquently. The demons and the angels, still present, were left undisturbed. Or perhaps they were his.

A summer in high elevation, in the clouds, one can only wonder. Or read the book.

On the Road.....#10

It is one thing to be stopped at a military checkpoint, and another to be rousted off a park bench at night after too many beers.




It’s all about borders. When crossing in country, or from state to state, the military is there to check your pack and ask questions. This has really increased in intensity lately due to the drug cartel wars.



He never thought this a problem, with the exception of a couple of times when he was suspected of being more than the "student of the country", as he is often described to the officers by his long time friend and in-country national.



On one occasion, his local friend decided to defend a young Canadian woman, when the soldiers had found a controlled “good time” in her pack while our entire bus was searched at a checkpoint. As a result of his impassioned defense of the woman, one who we did not even know, we were accused of being an accomplice to her. Moments such as this required finesse and luck.




One night, during a sway in a lively cantina, he had had enough, literally, and walked out of the dusty watering hole and into the quiet streets of the town. Fortunately, the town Centro had ample benches positioned along the way to catch his fall. On one such bench he sat, and absorbed the sounds and breezes of the night.










Public drinking is not tolerated in most areas, but this is typically enforced only when one is loud or disorderly. Fortunately, he was quiet. In fact, he had fallen asleep.





Suddenly, night turned to day. The light was so bright in his eyes. He could barely make out the silhouettes of the soldiers stacked high in the truck with the spotlight. He sat up and tried to understand the shouting…..Despiértese, despiértese, usted norteamericano borracho estúpido. ¡Párese y muéstrenos usted puede andar, o nosotros le detendremos inmediatamente! Escuche lo que decimos ahora o usted irá a encarcelar directamente. ¡Párese ahora!




Some folks believe we all have a built-in survival mode, one that kicks in when threatened, providing the ability, even unconsciously, to transcend the moment, and escape to the safe confines of your sleeping bag unscathed.


Actually, he cannot recall how this all worked out. But come daylight, he remembers someone handing him some hot coffee, and he thankfully acknowledged the beautiful sunrise, and another day on the road in Mexico.

Will.......why free will?

Change, to what, from what, and why? It seems to him that change, by the very nature of the word cannot happen in the future, because it is always present in the moment.

For a number of years now we have been told about the moral decline of our culture, and we did little to alter its course. It is becoming commonplace presently to hear or read about our fat and over consumptive American ways. Although some are still clinging to ideological divisions in debate, the overall consensus, at least after a couple glasses of red wine, is that our culture has run aground and needs a new direction.

We know now intuitively that this is true, but wonder how will it happen?

He remembers the days and weeks following September 11, 2001. There was a ‘real’ feeling that our lives had changed. Later people would respond disappointedly that the ‘change’ did not last, that soon we were all back to our normal ways.

The current talk and written words regarding change seem to imply policy or legislative action, as if it will occur because of a political decision, or a current crisis requiring it. However, change is a cultural phenomenon, which is based on the evolution of the collective consciousnesses’ of a group, society, or even the world’s citizenry.

But how? Do we continue to follow sheep-like the next over the cliff, to the Wal-Mart? Do we have a choice? In War and Peace, Tolstoy suggests, “each man lives for himself, uses his freedom to achieve his personal goals, and feels with his whole being that right now he can or cannot do such-and-such an action; but as soon as he does it, this action, committed at a certain moment in time, becomes irreversible, and makes itself the property of history, in which it has not a free but a predestined significance.”

So, perhaps the ‘change’, that we all seem to agree is needed, occur each moment we make free-will decisions, and manifests itself collectively. The individual may have more influence than we thought.

Early on the water....

End of times?.....or a new beginning.

The period of time between now and the year 2012 appears to be shaping up into a decisive time period when important choices will be made. This could be stated simply in response to events occurring across the planet this last twelve months, even without considering all the discussion given to the Mayan Calendar and the Dec.21, 2012 ‘end of times’ scenario. Perhaps that written regarding the change of human behavior has some validity.

"The Hopi and Mayan elders do not prophesy that everything will come to an end. Rather, this is a time of transition from one World Age into another. The message they give concerns our making a choice of how we enter the future ahead. Our moving through with either resistance or acceptance will determine whether the transition will happen with cataclysmic changes or gradual peace and tranquility. The same theme can be found reflected in the prophecies of many other Native American visionaries from Black Elk to Sun Bear." - Joseph Robert Jochmans

This concept, that we can make choices concerning our future destinies, is one found not only in Native American prophecies but is really an essential ingredient in all true prophetic pronouncements. True prophecy is meant to be a reflection on the hidden natures and motivations of human behavior, both individually and collectively, as well as the future options based on the human ability to make a choice.

On the Road...#9

He woke up face first in the sand and wrapped like tamale in a bed sheet. Staggering off the beach and onto the only strip of hard surface from Miami to Joe’s in Key West. This was early morning Islamorada, sand on the blacktop, sun rising on the centerline of highway 1, and a cerebral pounding resembling Ringo’s bass drum.

Auto pilot steered him into the diner, which doubled as a laundry mat. Remember back in the day when you stuffed squares of mantequilla in between each hotcake? She spun on to the counter stool next him. She wore poorly measured blue jean cutoffs over sun brown legs, a small tight tee-shirt, dirt-blonde hair, and one sandal.

An Ivy League education, and an incredible passion for marine life, and the protection of the same, landed her on a house boat at a local marina. Too many wash cycles, and refills of joe, allowed them to mix and match their mutual interests. He had never fallen so fast.

Later, he leaned against the rail at the stern of the floating rental, watching her hang her clean clothes on the line to dry in the mid-morning sun. The syrup stain on her tee-shirt was a distraction, so she removed it.

The line of clothes blocked sight from the long floating pier that led to where they parked their Harleys. She had revealed much, but left out the part about her boyfriend. As he hustled past the four leather looking dudes pounding down the gangway, he sensed his chance of escape before detection of his piracy, was about 45 seconds.

One can imagine his surprise to see his two friends, last seen in the Tiki Bar the night prior, were parked in their ugly orange Nova, just above the marina. As he dove into the back seat and shouted to get the hell out of there, they just glanced back from the front seat and knew he had been up to something, again.

Slow down a minute......

This is an old zen story he ran across in a book entitled "Tao: The Watercourse Way" by Alan Watts many years ago. Watt's work was a major catalyst for him. This story is about yin-yang and the cycle of the Universe. Its purpose, in his opinion, is to teach non-judgement of and detachment from outcome. Nothing is either good or bad. It just is.

Here's the story followed by an explanation by Alan Watts -

The Farmer's Horse

There is a story of a farmer whose horse ran away. That evening the neighbors gathered to commiserate with him since this was such bad luck. He said, "May be."

The next day the horse returned, but brought with it six wild horses, and the neighbors came exclaiming at his good fortune. He said, "May be."

And then, the following day, his son tried to saddle and ride one of the wild horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. Again the neighbors came to offer their sympathy for the misfortune. He said, "May be."

The day after that, conscription officers came to the village to seize young men for the army, but because of the broken leg the farmer's son was rejected. When the neighbors came to say how fortunately everything had turned out, he said, "May be."

The yin-yang view of the world is serenely cyclic. Fortune and misfortune, life and death, whether on small scale or vast, come and go everlastingly without beginning or end, and the whole system is protected from monotony by the fact that, in just the same way, remembering alternates with forgetting. This is the Good of good-and-bad.

Another side to every story........

Who imagined that in 2009, the world's governments would be declaring a new War on Pirates? As you read this, the British Royal Navy - backed by the ships of more than two dozen nations, from the US to China - is sailing into Somalian waters to take on men we still picture as parrot-on-the-shoulder pantomime villains. They will soon be fighting Somalian ships and even chasing the pirates onto land, into one of the most broken countries on earth.

The people our governments are labeling as "one of the great menace of our times" have an extraordinary story to tell -- and some justice on their side.

In 1991, the government of Somalia - in the Horn of Africa - collapsed. Its nine million people have been teetering on starvation ever since - and many of the ugliest forces in the Western world have seen this as a great opportunity to steal the country's food supply and dump our nuclear waste in their seas.

Yes: nuclear waste. As soon as the government was gone, mysterious European ships started appearing off the coast of Somalia, dumping vast barrels into the ocean. The coastal population began to sicken. At first they suffered strange rashes, nausea and malformed babies. Then, after the 2005 tsunami, hundreds of the dumped and leaking barrels washed up on shore. People began to suffer from radiation sickness, and more than 300 died. Ahmedou Ould-Abdallah, the UN envoy to Somalia, says: "Somebody is dumping nuclear material here. There is also lead, and heavy metals such as cadmium and mercury - you name it." Much of it can be traced back to European hospitals and factories, who seem to be passing it on to the Italian mafia to "dispose" of cheaply.

At the same time, other European ships have been looting Somalia's seas of their greatest resource: seafood. We have destroyed our own fish-stocks by over-exploitation - and now we have moved on to theirs. More than $300m worth of tuna, shrimp, lobster and other sea-life is being stolen every year by vast trawlers illegally sailing into Somalia's unprotected seas.

This is the context in which the men we are calling "pirates" have emerged. Everyone agrees they were ordinary Somalian fishermen who at first took speedboats to try to dissuade the dumpers and trawlers, or at least wage a 'tax' on them. They call themselves the Volunteer Coastguard of Somalia - and it's not hard to see why.

Excerpts taken from an article prepared by Johann Hari, a writer for the London Independent newspaper.

On the Road....#8

It was like riding a bus. He always feels that the bus cannot go any faster, so he might as well relax and enjoy the ride. In short, he is not in control. Control is important to some people, to him, essential.

So as he drove east back from N.M, and the canyon before that, he saw smoke emanating from the long hood of his 1972 Dodge Charger. A pit stop at a ma & pa told him three to four days till the thermostat would arrive from Albuquerque. More importantly, it would cost $36, and that was not going to happen on his wallet.

Every twenty-one miles, all the way to Chicago, he would add a gallon of water. No problem. With plenty of plastic jugs and a Labrador that happily used every stop for a squat, he just played music and enjoyed the ride. Just like on the bus. Until he entered Texas panhandle.

The first odd sight was the lack of cars on the road. He decided to stop for a six-pack and size up the strange weather that was brewing. Shopkeep was closing up quick, “big storm coming, you need to find shelter very soon.”

Down the road a spell he pulled off into a rest stop. He and his best friend sat up on a picnic table sipping and watching the wickedest sky imaginable. He thought it interesting and perhaps appropriate that they should die out here under such a big sky, away from all, and alone. The dog was very steady. This kept him calm as well, for another beer or two. Then when one corner of the shelter roof tore lose, they dove into the floorboard of the back seat of the Charger.

He felt the wet nose of his companion and caught site of the early morning sunrise. They stretched, scratched, peed, and boarded the overheated and thirsty horse for the next leg of the journey. They were on the road again, for the next twenty-one miles anyway.

Thinking ahead......

Now awake, he wiped the drool. Always strange to dose off, especially in a strange place like San Francisco, only to wake up and find someone sitting next to you reading the same book. Now granted, "I'm OK, You're OK" is not exactly high on his recommended list, but at that moment it spurred a long meaningful conversation that began to increase his world view. Persuasions aside.

However, a current reread of the 'other' book in his backpack has shown him how much of what we need today was thought of previously, though not taken seriously at the time. Our culture seems to work this way.


It is becoming clear that some saw our current set of economic and environmental circumstances long ago. The prescient writings of E.F. Schumacher establish this notion as true.



In his 1973 book 'Small Is Beautiful' (subtitled Economics as if People Mattered), Schumacher points out that our economy is unsustainable. The natural resources (especially fossil fuels), are treated as expendable income, when in fact they should be treated as capital, since they are not renewable and thus subject to eventual depletion. He further describes the capacity of nature to resist pollution is limited as well. He concludes that government effort must be concentrated on reaching sustainable development.


Schumacher asserts that it is education, well beyond natural resources in fact, that is our greatest resource. He shares historical examples where civilizations have perished only to be started again by humans with more innovative ideas and systems. He stresses that it will be through human education that we will solve our obstacles.




Schumacher writes:

Systems are never more no less than incarnations of man's most basic attitudes. . . . General evidence of material progress would suggest that the modern private enterprise system is--or has been--the most perfect instrument for the pursuit of personal enrichment. The modern private enterprise system ingeniously employs the human urges of greed and envy as its motive power, but manages to overcome the most blatant deficiencies of laissez-faire by means of Keynesian economic management, a bit of redistributive taxation, and the 'countervailing power' of the trade unions.


"Can such a system conceivably deal with the problems we now have to face? The answer is self-evident: greed and envy demand continuous and limitless economic growth of a material kind, without proper regard for conservation, and this type of growth cannot possibly fit into a finite environment. We must therefore study the essential nature of the private enterprise system and the possibilities of evolving an alternative system which might fit the new situation."
E.F Schumacher

On the Road......#7

“There’s that couch in the corner there if you need it, but you need to know that after midnight no one will be here,” the manager offered. Late night in a bus station is rarely pleasant, but he needed to kill time and welcomed a dry sleep after last evening.

Garage bands were just learning the chords to the now classic Cinnamon Girl, Al had retired and the Warriors were beginning a slow fade, it was 1978. After a long train ride to Denver, and forced to snow camp on the short side of Rabbit Ears Pass due to an evening ending avalanche ( a worthy story for another time), his last ride graciously dropped him at the station in Steamboat Springs, CO.

He had accommodations planned at a condo on the slope of a his brothers good friend. However, his skis had ridden cheaply on a bus that would not arrive until early the next morning. The ski area was a few miles out of the old cowboy town and, well, one thing at a time he figured.

Soon the station quieted down and the manager shut off the remaining lights. He was sleeping soundly in his warm bag when he first heard the door edge open. Blurry eyes watched the silhouette walk slowly and quietly along the wall. It dawned on him that this might be a regular flop for a local perhaps. Not a word was spoken and the darkness prevailed.

Suddenly he felt a jolt to his shoulder. He always sleeps with one arm through the strap on his backpack, and now that backpack was in the clutches of this stranger. This dude just grabbed it and wanted to run out the door. Half on the floor now, they engaged in a very short property battle. He looked up from the filthy floor to see the intruder escape out the door. No harm done.

Back to sleep, after all, he had a day on the slopes tomorrow. Youth, little fear, little brains, and a lot of fun

Heading...........North

O Canada! Our home and native land!

True patriot love in all thy sons command.

With glowing hearts we see thee rise,

The True North strong and free! From far and wide,

O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

God keep our land glorious and free!

O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

Exploring Land Use.....#4

Eagle Cap Wilderness Area

He first encountered Joseph Sax in 1981 at the University of Michigan as he released his then new book “Mountains without Handrails”, in which he directs his argument to Congress and agency in favor of the preservation ethic. Sax offers the following policy statement (in summary):

The parks are places where recreation reflects the aspirations of a free and independent people. The parks are an object lesson for a world of limited resources. The parks are great laboratories of successful natural communities. The parks are living memorials of human history on the American continent.

However, considering most of his experiences involve water use, it is his article on the Public Trust Doctrine that is most applicable here. The States, as professor Sax explains, are considered trustees and in fact hold title to certain submerged lands in trust for the citizens or beneficiaries. As the Colorado flowed naturally (pre dam), citizens of each state had use of the water as it crossed over invisible boundaries. Though not regulated beyond the application of prior appropriation (first in time, first in right), the value of the resource, the common good, was dictated by geography and often the power of the volume user (private or commercial). However, the public’s rights to the resource over commercial uses are protected by the trust doctrine and supported by court decisions.

Therefore, the common good must be determined based on the values that the citizens apply to an individual resource.

Through the Property Clause (giving Congress power without limitation), the federal government gained authority over public lands. Here the purposes of improving and protecting the forests, securing favorable water flows and to furnish a continuous supply of timber were supplemented by an additional purpose of the forests as so valued by the American people. Consideration was now given to the enjoyment of these public lands for recreation and preservation, with attention to wildlife proliferation.

Although the preservationist ethic holds high regard with this writer, it is easy to understand the utilitarian approach which regulates the majority of our public lands. In national forests and Bureau of Land Management’s lands, timber harvesting, mining, and cattle grazing share the resources with a simple citizen user such as himself.

djs

Keeping time....

When you cross fifty, it’s like breakfast is every 15 minutes.

Go ahead and use whatever means to harness it and calculate it, it still remains elusive. Calendars, clocks, seasonal rituals, even opening day, cannot capture time as clearly as our perception of it

He lately feels it rushing by quickly when reading. Hours disappear unrecognized. Sure, he was lost in someone else’s world and the chimes went unheard. He wonders if his time would better be spent in his world, living each tick. He has also noticed that strenuous physical labor, directed at a productive project or goal, is generous with time, at least his perception of it.

So when his first Lab rose up off the old wool army blanket often used around a fire while camping, and stood poised and alert to a distant approaching crunch of forest matter, time stood still. The distance he had walked in was considerable, but the illumination provided by the fire was minimal. The dog offered a long persistent growl in the direction of the oncoming stranger.

“It seemed like it took a very nervous hour for those two campers to finally reach the fire light and show their faces,” he later reflected. Of course they had only gotten lost hiking the rim of our greatest canyon and wished to share the light and warmth of his fire. It all made for an evening of welcome conversation, even through the broken English emanating from his new German companions.

The dog still stirred and moaned for what seemed like a long time.

Time alone......

I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time. To be in company, even with the best, is soon wearisome and dissipating. I love to be alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude. We are for the most part more lonely when we go abroad among men than when we stay in our chambers. A man thinking or working is always alone; let him be where he will. Solitude is not measured by the miles of space that intervene between a man and his fellows.
H.D. Thoreau

It seemed that all too often, when finding himself in a small local but still raucous tavern, which most conversation with women eventually elevated to words that embodied the idea of “can’t we just go live on a mountain, in a cabin, and be away from all this,” that moments of clarity swept in like ocean waves. As much as we are drawn to society’s fire early, eventually it fades and we are left wondering why others cannot sustain us.

So it would seem that this understanding would comfort him as he lay early on a Saturday evening, in his tent alone, far away from those he knew, and had hoped to know better. Reasoned thinking holds one steady, but will not soothe. So as his mind raced over the landscape, he thought of clinking glasses, juke box repeats, and bluejeaned knees rubbing under the bar stools. Soon his emotions assumed control, he felt alone.
djs

Exploring Land Use.....#3

(a continuation, see previous archives)

These land designations will be evaluated by considering how the public’s values, as well as the “common good”, should be applied in regulating the use of our natural resources. Rereading the John McPhee classic, “Encounters with the Archdruid” was helpful in preparing for this writing. Here McPhee, along with the Commissioner of Reclamation, the Sierra Club president David Brower, and a local resort developer, raft down the Colorado River, downstream of the Glen Canyon Dam, while debating the merits of preservation and varied use.


The dam was constructed to regulate and appropriate water use. An addition to this project was the creation of the adjoining reservoir and subsequent national recreation area. The recreation areas sole purpose is as a multiple use recreational park, as opposed to a national park, where the emphasis is primarily on the preservation of the resource.


Gifford Pinchot (the first Chief of the U.S. Forest Sevice, known for reforming the management and development of forests in the United States and for advocating the conservation of the nation's reserves by planned use and renewal, calling it "the art of producing from the forest whatever it can yield for the service of man") would have embraced this utilitarian approach, by encouraging development without waste to promote the common good. The recreation area and adjoining dam rely on the scientific expertise of public officials to manage the public resources in an efficient and sustainable manner.

The question arises of course,“what is the common good”? When Congress created the first national park (Yellowstone), it chose the wording “a public park or pleasuring ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people”. Statistics bear out that the majority of visitors to public lands preferred uses include sightseeing, boating, fishing, hotels and souvenir shops. In addition, these folks want well engineered, safe and comfortable access and accommodation. Recreation areas and national parks provide this in great measure; a roadless national forest does not.



Although John Muir would counter that our wild public lands should offer spiritual, recreational, and recuperative values that are otherwise unavailable in civilized society.

In other words...."into the wild," should be just that.