thoughts from the wrong side of the brain

Rikon Bandsaw Model 10-345: Big Problems

2010-11-09T07:20:00.000-08:00

Woodworkers spend a lot of time figuring out what to buy. This post is for those considering a bandsaw.

I have never been more disappointed in a tool purchase than with my Rikon bandsaw. Nor can I imagine a more complete failure of a piece of equipment and in a company. It's a sorted story and it ended in completely junking the entire saw. A brand new saw, less than a year old, is now a couple of hundred pounds of scrap. I hope this cautionary tale keeps you from making the same mistake. If you're thinking about a Rikon bandsaw scratch it off the list now.

First, I am a weekend woodworker. I don't spend hours on my equipment, but I do spend a significant amount of time figuring out what to buy. I want it to be good equipment. I've been around tools and equipment most of my 50-years and I'm no slouch at using and tuning them.

I bought the saw at Woodcraft and brought it home and set it up. The most immediate problem was blade movement; the blade jumped significantly. To rule out an existing blade problem, I went and bought a replacement blade and also a large resaw blade. The replacement blade made no difference and the resaw blade had severe jump - in excess of 1/4" - perhaps as much as 3/8". I called Rikon and Rod, the Vice-President, had me attempt to adjust the bottom wheel. I played with this fussy adjustment for quite some time to no avail, but I did get a good feel as to the adjustments effect. I called again and Rod said he would send a new bottom wheel. The new wheel arrived and it was the wrong wheel and didn't fit. I packaged the wheel up. Rod sent another wheel. This wheel fit and I put it on, but the saw was no better. I called Rikon again. Rod sent another wheel. The third wheel performed no better. I called Rikon again. At this point it didn't seem like much more could be done and Rod said he would send a new saw out. It may sound like an easy fix; however, it wasn't. After a while the new saw arrived and after spending quite some time getting the old saw off my mobile base I unpacked the new saw, wrestled it off the crate and back into the mobile base. Reusing the palate, crate and packing material, I re-crated and re-packaged the old saw, wrestled it out of the shop and set it outside for shipping. This took most of an entire weekend - it's not easy to lift and lower 400 pound machines many times over. After what turned out to be a many month process I was looking forward to a good, working saw. I later found out that the first saw's upper wheel was not straight; something I had mentioned to Rikon and found in my own extensive troubleshooting. My gauges told me the top wheel was out of round.

The new saw was better, but far from perfect. But, having gone through so much hassle with the old saw I decided I might live with the new one. However, large resaw blades still hammered the rear bearing. I mostly used very small blades in the saw and it performed ok. I rarely had a large blade in the saw and only resawed a couple of maple boards. The saw was plenty powerful for that task, but the blade tracking or wobble was an intractable problem.

Summer came and I spent little time in the shop. However, cool weather came back around and migrated back to my favorite cool weather activity; my shop. My son was using the saw with a 1/4" blade to cut 1/4" plywood for a sword he was keen on making for Halloween. I was with him and he was on the saw for a while. Upon stopping the saw it would not restart.

I checked everything and couldn't find a problem. I got the meter out and checked the breaker - nothing. I checked the outlet - everything was correct. I took the switch out and checked both poles. Again, everything appeared to be fine. I took the motor cover off and checked the motor. Both poles had continuity from the motor leads to the plug and both sides were getting correct voltage on a 20 amp breaker. The motor had failed! I actually thought it was the capacitor, but my electrical knowledge doesn't extend to motors. In case I missed anything I moved the saw over to the tablesaw outlet - nothing. I was incredulous and pretty pissed-off. I have spent more time troubleshooting the saw than using the saw and it had eaten into my limited shop time and now I had no saw at all. I had spent months, literally, screwing around with the bandsaw from hell and now something new.

I wrote Rikon - Rod - an email. I waited and didn't hear anything. Finally, I called and talked to someone else. I then got an email back from Rod blaming me for the wheel problem and the motor problem. I quote, "We attributed the upper wheel issue (on the first saw) to be caused by excessive blade tension and/or leaving blade tension on for extended periods of time. Your current wheel issue coupled with the motor capacitor failure all but confirms excessive blade tension." The problem with this so called theory is that I received BOTH saws with the wobble problem. I barely even used the first saw and hadn't spend much time on the second. I couldn't have and didn't create the problems on the first saw and certainly not the wobble on the second saw. The second issue is that I couldn't really put a large blade on the second saw because of the wobble, so I most often used a small blade which uses little tension. The over tension idea is pretty over-baked. Especially, for as little use as the bandsaw experienced.

I replied to Rod's email writing this all down and heard nothing back. I sent another email a week or so later and Rod wrote back telling me they'd repair the saw if I shipped it back to them! I couldn't believe it. The motor bolts on with three bolts and Rikon wants me to ship it back! They want me to ship the saw a second time, but now pay the shipping, build a palate and shipping box and move the saw all over again. I'm reliving the first nightmare.

Rikon refused to send a new motor, refused just sending the saw back, and generally refused to be any kind of a partner with this problem. It is astoundingly difficult for me to lift and move this saw. Let alone box it and ship it.

Does anyone need any scrap steel?

Do you really think this saw is a "best value" on Fine Woodworking or Woodworking magazine? Or, for that matter, anywhere? It may appear a good value, but 400 pounds of scrap steel in a small shop is significantly valueless.

A Tale of Two Cabinets

2009-10-30T10:18:00.001-07:00

James Krenov, who just passed away in October (2009), taught an entire generation of woodworkers to converse with wood; to listen and respond with a thoughtful approach; the dialog informing the very shape and feel of a thing. Design is a tricky thing, but through such a conversation we can at least arrive at a semblance of design quality. We can follow the threads which challenge our notions and preconceptions and thus raise the tenor of the look and feel of a piece beyond that which typically lies within us. Often those ideas raise our skills pushing us to explore new methods and new approaches.

Sometimes a design comes together just as conceived. But, more often that which was pictured or drawn fails to live up to expectations. Something says no, we listen, it morphs, we adapt; and after a while we arrive with something that looks better for the conversation.

The following tale brightly illuminates this process. I like to make two of something, especially when there are many steps and many problems to work out. I recently wrote in Cabinet-Failures and Illusions about making a handle for a cabinet. I also made an identical cabinet to the one pictured in the aforementioned post; however the two cabinets, although cut at the same time of the same species of wood, have such a different look and feel. One has a more formal feel; tall and straight-grained, clear and uniformly colored. The other one is soft with little obvious grain, but with subtle shading and hue. Dark areas define the panels and the chocolate tone of the wood is quiet and somber. It would be easy to assume that two identically sized and constructed cabinets would look good with identical handles. But, the handles for the chocolate cabinet don't compliment the tall cabinet. I had a long discussion (most of the summer) with the tall cabinet and I eventually ended up down by the creek looking for branches. I found some chokecherry and cut several branches and after stripping them of branches, leaves and bark set them aside to dry . Upon discovering the shape and length that fit and cutting them to size I turned some walnut rings which I could slip over each end. Each was sized to slip to a certain point and then stop. I intended to dowel them through the back and into the cabinet. It just didn't look right. The walnut interrupted the line of the branch and took away from the simplicity of the line. I decided to eliminate the walnut altogether and let the shape of the branch define the cabinet front. That worked. I embonized each handle and mounted them using walnut dowels.

A Thousand Measureless Minutes

2009-05-01T17:26:00.000-07:00

Tim slid down the chute feet first. Now, there was no going back, no return. The lip was four feet above the black pool and there was no way to reach it once plunged into the darkness. The sides were slick, polished, and beautiful. The pool opened at the opposite end into a slot; a narrow, deep, twisting slot just as dark and beautiful as the pool. Somewhere the slot opened up, somewhere unknown.

When Tim plunged in he took a moment to surface and I heard the slight panic, the thrashing, the unmeasured breaths. I felt the tension. His struggle lept off the walls and echoed down the canyon. It lasted a while and stopped and then between deep sucking breaths I heard, "It's cold."

We had been hot - very hot. We had covered the three-miles up the canyon with all of our ropes and gear in about a half-an-hour and it had been difficult to get into the deep part of the canyon, now several hundred feet above us. After walking the ledges we had repelled and then down-climbed into the deepest hole. The world changed. Gone was the ragged, wind-eroded sandstone. Replacing it were the sensuous curves of this half water world; elegant, towering, twisting, fantastic; irreducibly complex - horrifyingly simple.

I slid down the chute. I struck and forgot everything. The hole was numbingly cold and the shock from sweat to freezing was instantaneously alarming - panicking. I had perhaps ten-pounds of gear on and my feet found no bottom, my hands no grip. Air seemed in short supply. The channel was too narrow to swim. A frantic dog paddle found another curve and another. Then the narrow opened, my feet found a bottom and Tim stood at the end laughing....

I clearly remember walking down the trail after climbing all day at Seneca. Gear jingling, laughing, fooling around. It was 1993 and we were single. Besides work, we climbed. I perfected lead-climbing and Tim learned rope work, gear placement, and the craft of climbing. We ate pizza at the general store and drank too much in the evenings around the fire. They were the best days.

...The valley lay below, far below. The truck, perhaps a mile away, appeared as a speck. Only a few feet separated me from the summit of Six Shooter, but the move was committing and the fall not very appealing. A smear, an incut hold, and a mantle was all that remained, but I didn't like the smears on red sandstone.
Earlier, I had slipped on a very solid layback; the sandstone shoving my foot downward, and now I was thinking about the consequences of a fall. On lead, I sometimes go up, then down, and up again, testing, feeling the holds, readying myself for the moment when I move up regardless of what lies above. I yelled at Tim, "Watch me." I torqued my foot onto the soft rock and climbed. The moves were easy. I stood and nothing else was above me.

The top was about the size of a good Thanksgiving table. To the south the Abajo's broke the deep blue sky. To the north, the LaSalles, fresh with new snow beamed white against the red rock of Indian Creek. To the west, Canyonlands, The Maze, and Needles lay all around. I readied the ropes and brought Tim up. We had climbed as one; connected by the ropes, by our long friendship, by the trust forged in our many adventures. The rope; our bond, our suffering, our tears, our easy laugh, our deep friendship.

Desert spires are special. These unique summits give only after taking, but leave you giddy with wonder. I've stood amongst the lumbering, snowy summits and glaciated peaks of North America, yet these summits, who fall in just a day, never fail to leave one awestruck. We shared the summit, another place marked our passing and etched our memory. We readied the repel...

The brambles in Quebec demand skin in trade for passage. Each taking their meager portion - only a bit, a small sample. But, they are countless hordes. They ate at us piece by piece. Bit by bit through the night. We have a picture of our legs after the race. More blood and scabs then skin. It was the first time - the first adventure race. Crack for junkies like us.

....We sat and surveyed the expanse below and plotted our route. Perhaps a thousand feet below Salt Creek cut into the valley floor and began its relentless destruction; each layer of sandstone giving up begrudgingly and suddenly falling to the next until after twenty-miles a hundred layers lay breached. We plunged off the edge of the mesa hoping to find water but also quench our thirst for a place no one had been. In a little hole in the rock we found water and in the slot canyon we quenched our desire. Cougar tracks gave away the ghost who traveled this place at night. The canyon narrowed and became a slot. It slithered through the pinions, gathered itself together and fell hundreds of feet in one crashing, silent crescendo. We climbed up and around. We spent the remainder of the day clambering through and sandstone and the pinions. In the end we climbed back up the mesa and sat around the fire eating and talking into the night. We went out to see the stars above the mesa; shooting stars celebrated the night and the place. Orion lay deep on the western horizon, lord over the winter no more. The stillness was profound. The immensity fathomless.

I was puking on the road; great heaves and spasms, but nothing was coming out. There was nothing. We had been racing for solidly for over 24-hours over what seemed like weeks and I had eaten almost nothing. I was done, but Tim was in front - pushing, pulling. Each of us came and went - equally spent and equally energetic. When one stood; when one pushed, we both stood. We won that race. 350 miles and seven days. It marked a new point in what we thought was possible - everything.

We bounced up and down Comb Ridge like bunnies spurred on by the Anasazi and the country itself. Two-days of ruins, petroglyphs, and sandstone. I have written about this place many times and I was happy to let Tim fall under its spell. Our climbing skills were put to good use as we searched the deep washes and climbed the ridge again and again.

To have American antiquity spread before is humbling. We are brothers with the people who called these places home. We felt them. Restless, they discovered everything and filled every corner. The West; these mountains, buttes, and open spaces stirs men who were born in the wrong time. We are better suited to walk with Colter, Powell, Bridger, and Lewis.

Just this week the intrepid explorer, writer, and artist Everett Ruess bones were found on Comb Ridge. Fitting, the mystery of his disappearance was solved this week and his bones were found in this place. He was killed by Utes in 1934 - perhaps the last man killed by Indians. I suspect he would have liked his resting place. It's curious and fitting that William Posey also died about 10-years earlier at Comb Ridge. Perhaps the last Indian killed by whites. Ruess said,

Adventure is for the adventurous.
My face is set.
I go to make my destiny.
May many another youth be by me inspired to leave the snug safety of his rut,
and follow fortune to other lands.
God, how the wild calls to me.
There can be no other life for me but that of the lone wanderer.
It has an irresistible fascination.
The lone trail is the best for me.

Throughout the trip we were reminded of the vastness of space in the night sky and the vastness of time in the stones around us. We noted these things and talked of our adventures together, we laughed easily and enjoyed the wind in our faces. We talked about one day being forced, like all men, to leave these places and return from whence we came.

Ruess said much of this far better.

"Music has been in my heart all the time, and poetry in my thoughts. Alone on the open desert, I have made up songs of wild, poignant rejoicing and transcendent melancholy. The world has seemed more beautiful to me than ever before. I have loved the red rocks, the twisted trees, the red sand blowing in the wind, the slow, sunny clouds crossing the sky, the shafts of moonlight on my bed at night. I have seemed to be at one with the world. I have rejoiced to set out, to be going somewhere, and I have felt a still sublimity, looking deep into the coals of my campfires, and seeing far beyond them. I have been happy in my work, and I have exulted in my play. I have really lived."

My dying breath will fire my last thoughts and they will be of the wild places and the people I've shared those places with. There are a handful of people, many places, and there is still time....

Yin and Yang Vase

2009-03-14T20:00:00.000-07:00

For the last several days the trees at the office have been getting trimmed. Wood is scarce here on the high plains and I couldn't let good hardwood be turned into mulch so I snagged a nice piece of locust. I used the crotch out of the log and turned this yin and yang vase.

Winter is quickly fading and I'm being pulled outside; away from the shop; toward other interests. This vase fits nicely with the idea being puled in opposite directions; of wanting different things, opposite things; and achieving some balance between all of those interests. Yin and Yang are about disjunct or opposing forces which are interconnected and interdependent in the natural world, each giving rise to each other in turn. Yin and yang are bound together, yet they are in opposition. So is a balanced life. Our interests are in opposition each to the other - we can only do one at a time, and the pursuit of one keeps us from perfecting the other. Yet, each informs the others. My woodworking informs my business interests. My interest in science improves my ability to perfect rational thought. Climbing, mounting biking, and other outdoor pursuits all inform each other. My interest in Western history informs my exploring. I can explore more remote places because I keep pursue all of these sports. Hard physical exertion in turn improves the mind. A sharp mind is necessary in the business world. Rational thought ties everything together. Each make me better at the other. Each turns on the other. They all nourish each other and they all nourish me.

Tammi is an artist and a scientist. Each is necessary for the other. There have been some studies lately which demonstrate, rather pointedly, that right brain activities (art, for example) improve the abilities of physicians (a generally left brain activity). For me, not only does all of the varied things I do make everything I do better, but it keeps my life sharp, vibrant, and new. The cycle is self-renewing, self-propagating; regenerative.

The duplicitous and adulterous wanderings of both our psyche and our amorous attentions are good. Like a good sports team these various sojourns build depth; strength. The key is limiting their practice so as to build strength in their cross-pollination and not foundering around trying to milk all of the blossoms.

I think I'll go work in the shop, well, a good book would be nice, no - I need a ride, ah - what I really need is a week in the desert.

The New President - An Historical Perspective

2009-01-22T07:07:00.000-08:00

Regardless of your politics, ideology, religious beliefs, or affiliation there is a element of this election that reaches beyond simple history. This event is one of those foundational movements in history when things shift. Events like the crossing of the Delaware, the return of Lewis and Clark, Hiroshima, and the Arkansas Nine.

America has always represented an ideal; an egalitarian society; a place of almost limitless possibility. Perhaps the first in the history of civilization and certainly a place that, at least on its face, represents the future of humankind. However, that ideal has been tainted by racism; by the specter that some are not equal. For our lifetimes that fact has been just underneath our collective skin; our promise unfulfilled; our destiny derailed. Photo: Revolution Studios

There is something new. Nothing ends, yet no one had such a bold dream that the pendulum of history could change with one event. That is why the old men weep. The victory in this election is not Obama's alone, but it is the exhaling of a million held breaths. Perhaps the victory is not Obama's at all. It is our victory. The realization that history will mark this single point as an end to what Truman began is, for many, beyond words. That the silent protest of Rosa Parks, the cries of King, and the sacking of Detroit are not only behind us, but that we did in fact produce a more perfect Union. That we can go froward. That the dreams of all can now be our collective dream.

If possible, there is even something bigger. Beyond these shores, there are children in Kenya and university students in France who look to us, and with joy and hope, wonder if what we have accomplished - they can accomplish. We can only hope.

The Cabinet - Failures and Illusions

2009-01-09T18:52:00.000-08:00

"As a perfectionist, you exist only so long as you are tying to make that perfect piece: on second thought, "perfect" is perhaps not quite what I mean, since the very word implies something beyond criticism and also remote from the warmth that keeps our work alive. But I have now and then wanted to do a piece - just one single thing - which would be the sum of all my efforts, and could justify my existence as a craftsman. Of course, that urge serves best while it is an illusion. And what is that perfect piece? You complain because it eludes you--and are secretly glad because you have to complain. You mutter about the a detail or a whole piece being not quite as you wanted...Some mistakes you make and correct...You stand in front of a piece all evening wandering, is it good? Yes, but what about THAT part: is it a mistake? What will happen if you back up and change it? You'll spend time, run the risk of spoiling the whole piece and the result will be - a line: too straight to be quite alive? An edge: if you make it more even will this be a loss, or a noticeable gain? You are not so much worried about the effort or even risk involved, as over something else...." James Krenov - A Cabinetmaker's Notebook

I almost failed the cabinet.

Handles are important. Either they are hidden; unobtrusive - allowing only the piece to exist, or they call out for you to use them. Mostly they do the latter. They beg you to open the hidden; to explore a drawer, open a door. I wanted mine to invite you to look inside and to provide something new on the outside; something unique, something complete.

I envisioned a simple walnut handle, but that was somehow too simple. I wanted it to be a very elongated oval. The shape of the piece suggested something elongated. I plotted how to turn it, how to hold it, how to keep it from spinning out of control. After roughing out the knobs and using a considerable amount of time I was ready for the oval. It was disaster. I couldn't see the knob to turn it. I spun one and quickly destroyed my prior work. My idea of perfection was shattered, my vision marred, and failure seemed like a likely end.

I brooded for days while doing other things. I knew failure could be turned, but that is seldom easy and often fraught with doubt. It is difficult to replace a vision - a concept. A spark finally lit, a new vision started to form and I liked it. I went and got a small piece of ebony and cut up some cardboard in some possible shapes. I liked it. I changed the radius a bit. I cut a wooden template. I liked it. I cut some walnut into 1/4" slices and made the handle. I liked it. My outlook improved, but I still had a long way to go with something I had never done before. I needed to mount the handle; to fix it to the doors. Numerous configurations lead me back to the lathe.

I cut up the ebony and readied it for the lathe. I turned it down, pulled it off and decided it was too big. I turned it down some more and was pleased. The other three fell in quick succession.

Often, with cabinet work you spend tremendous amounts of time on something which can then be destroyed so quickly, so thoroughly, that the last steps are almost painful. There is a kind of terror in the air. I had to put a deep, angled mortise down the center of a very small, very hard knob. 1/32" was too much error.

I played with some ideas and arrived at a reasonable solution which would accomplish the task and keep my fingers their original length. My jig worked ok, and a little bench work cleaned up the remainder. I hurriedly finished the remaining work so I could see it finally together. I always get inpatient at this point - wondering if the proportion is right, if the line is good, if it works. I have to mentally slow down; appreciate the ending; not screw up. There's no mistake at this point which wouldn't ruin everything and the pieces were fragile and small.

Once it was finished I was pleased. The handles did invite you to open the doors. The chocolate tones of the wood wooed the walnut and ebony. It was a whole.

Victory comes in small steps. Each piece a part of a whole becomes so intertwined, so dependent on the other, that the victories become indistinguishable. New failures await - the pursuit of perfection presents this foreboding horizon and we plod on to our demise and our ecstasy. It all binds the craftsmen, the cabinetmaker and the artist in its wonderful grip.

I still have my illusion.

Shop - design and a cabinet

2008-11-26T10:01:00.000-08:00

Producing interesting new work is generally accomplished by pushing one's boundaries, experimenting, and focusing on the creative process; however, the goal is seldom attained on each new project. (Sometimes, ideas seemingly explode out of nowhere, but those ideas are often hatched from some latent genesis - read"Blink" by Malcolm Gladwell) We tend to move forward in fits and starts; thinking, applying the knowledge of our errors, contemplating what-ifs, acquiring new skills, and infusing new views into our vision.

I have completed several recent projects which have included design elements that I wished to incorporate into some new work - a kind of uber project which includes all of my recent ideas. I got the impression of a wall cabinet with exposed joinery. A modern piece; tall and thin with compartments, drawers, and cubbyholes. On a recent trip to San Antonio I had some time to draw and flesh-out some of the details. After quite a few pages of doodles I had a workable design and I liked it so much that I thought I would make two and try to get one into a show or gallery. On the way home I ran into such a gallery owner on the plane - how convenient! Yes, I did get her card.

I generally draw my projects in CADD and work out all of the dimensions; however, with this cabinet I only sketched all the parts and pieces and then went and found the wood. I was thinking of hickory with walnut details as I was looking for high contrasts and unusual grain. This time I let the wood dictate the size and to some degree inspire the details.

There's a story in all this. In the midst of building this cabinet I was digging through the stacks in the library at Colorado State University in Fort Collins and found a book by Krenov. I was vaguely aware of him, but never studied his work. I was fascinated, his work is beautiful, his process seemingly renown, and I found, unknowingly, my cabinet was very much in the vein of his work. My work most likely mirrors his because he has so strongly influenced fine wooodworking today. I went on to read about him. He was very influential in establishing the studio craftsmen movement and especially the high level of skill with joinery which very much defines the best work now produced. I have unquestionably inherited those ideals and strive to attain that mastery.

Here's what he said about design; " ... however some of us may be able to sketch or imagine things in our mind, there are surprises, and problems, when it comes to the the work itself. We may have a fair idea of how we think a piece will look and may even make drawings, yet there are certain aspects in the nature of various forms and proportions - and especially in the material we work with, wood with its own graphic messages - that turn the whole process of working from a matter of certainty, or even rather definite suppositions, to a series of adventures that takes us from one uncertainty to another, with hopes of reaching a turning point."

I'm working toward more of a journey with my designs - it makes a pleasing destination and the time spent along the way is focused, intense, and ingrossingly serene.

I still have to make the inside of this cabinet and it is still unfinished, but I include pictures to illustrate what Krenov said, as it is what I experienced.

So far the joinery includes; through splined tenons, mortise and tenon - frame and panel doors, tapered sliding dovetails and tongue and groove back.

For now, I'm content to walk out to the shop and see if the piece works. To see if the proportion likes the low light, the bright light, the shade. To perceive what one might expect when it is opened. To find the shape of the handles while I wonder around my imagination and hover over my old and worn bench.

Shop - oak and leather headboard- post two

2008-10-30T16:41:00.001-07:00

With the two rails of the headboard complete I also needed make the stiles, which also held the leather panels. This connection requires little strength so a lap joint is sufficient. I milled these up on the table saw. A rabbit in each rail and a rabbit in the stiles will hold the leather panel. The rabbit in the rails also holds the stile.

Once these tasks were complete the first glue-up was ready. It is important to make certain everything fits before glue-up. The process must go quickly and smoothly. Prepare everything and prepare for cleanup. No matter how carefully you spread the glue there will be a little squeezed out - especially on a mortise and tenon joint. A little bit a tape along the joint can prevent most of the squeeze-out from getting on the wood thus making clean-up easier and more effective.

In the previous post I briefly discussed wood movement. The bottom tenon was almost 10" long. To accommodate the wood movement I only applied glue to a little more than half of the top of the tenon. This will allow the wood to move downward. Also the tenon should be cut somewhat smaller across the width so as to allow for this movement.

After gluing up the rails and posts I set them aside and milled up the top from 3/4 and 5/4 oak. I then glued the two together and set them aside for the next day. The next day I joined their common edge and connected the top to the rails using biscuits.

Next the leather panels - the leather must be glued to something very smooth as any defect in the surface behind the leather will show on the face of the leather. I used smooth birch plywood, but I wanted the back of the headboard to all be oak too and the panels were not going to be covered. I milled up 1/4 oak and applied it to the back of the plywood creating what amounted to an oak panel. I used Titebond and spread the glue evenly with a tile trowel and then clamped all of the panels up in a large stack.

I didn't want to apply the leather until the wood color was applied and there was one coat of polyurethane on everything, so as to not discolor the leather. Again, I used water-based aniline stain. Tammi's the color expert and always helps me mix the colors and she matched the nightstands exactly. Because aniline stain is water-based it raises the grain so the wood must be hand sanded one final time.

I finished the headboard with a mixture of linseed oil, polyurethane, and thinner. I gradually increased the mix so that the last several coats were only polyurethane. This gives the finish a very deep and lusterious look.

With the panels finished it was time to apply the leather. Previously, I applied a small piece of leather to the birch plywood with regular wood glue (Titebond III) and everything appeared fine. The drying glue didn't bunch the leather and the connection was very strong. Also, I precut leather panels somewhat larger than needed intending to trim it tightly and neatly when the glue dried. I applied leather conditioner to the finished side of the leather, faced the finish sides to one another, and stacked and pressed the leather flat for a day or so. I didn't want, or need much glue on the panel to hold the leather; however, I did need a nice consistent application so I used a foam roller to spread the glue. This gave the surface a nice even spread. The leather, once fixed, was rolled out with a rolling pin, stacked, and clamped. Once set I trimmed the edges flush and set the panels in the rabbits designed to receive them. I trimmed out the interface of the panel and rabbit with quartersawn 5/16" x 1-3/8" oak strips.

I was very happy with the results and I fully expect to incorporate wood and leather together in the future.This is the king size headboard which is just over 6 foot long.

Shop - oak and leather headboard - post one

2008-10-28T09:34:00.000-07:00

Design, it seems, never comes easy. It's difficult to just sit down and create; to bring an the feel of an idea into reality. In addition, when money and so much time and effort go into the final product the design is often the monster in the closet. I had been thinking about making a headboard for some time, but I wanted to modernize the look of the nightstands, which match the other antiques dressers. I was generally thinking about some kind of metal panels surrounded by the oak. Perhaps a typical country-type Victorian headboard, but replacing the panels with plate steel. However, the idea never really gelled as the elements were just a little too incongruent and a little too harsh. I just never could make it work.

For some reason the idea of replacing the metal with leather came to me and I really liked the possibilities. I did some research on gluing leather to wooden panels and the process was very workable. I then began drawing up some ideas which incorporated the look of the nightstands into a headboard with leather panels. It was fairly easy to come up with a good look as a headboard is fairly simple.

I found some nice cow hides at an eBay store and paid about 40-bucks for an entire hide! It was very good leather and the color worked with the intended color of the oak. I began looking for the oak and found two absolutely straight grained, rift-sawn, wide boards. They were perfectly sawn being perhaps the straightest grain boards of this length I'd ever seen or at least worked with. These two boards supplied the majority of the visual elements and the remainder was found rough-sawn at the local lumber yard. When working with a very heavy-grained wood like oak you have to pay attention to the visual aspects of the grain. Crazy grain (unless desired) going in all directions can really change the look of something - generally negatively. In addition, of equal importance, is what the grain is creating in the board - warp, twist, cupping, and other undesirable traits. For wide boards that include joinery (in this case tenons) it is important the boards be rift or quarter sawn to avoid expansion and contraction problems. I did some calculations of the widest boards as constructed and determined that the boards potential worst-case expansion could be about 3/16" perhaps 1/4". This calculation is based upon species, some low and high moisture content assumptions, width, and grain orientation. I'll discuss the construction details later.

I often use mortise and tenon joints and planned to on this headboard; however, I usually make the tenons on the table saw. Six foot boards make that impossible so I set up the router. With very wide tenons a router works well, but the set up, from start to finish, must be precise. On the table saw the repeatability of machine crates accuracy. With a router the accuracy must be created by you. First, as usual, make sure your boards are evenly dimensioned and exactly squared. There are some things to pay attention to: First of all you should try to mill all of the tenons at one time so I clamped both boards together. This eliminates two set-ups, but more importantly ensures that both boards are milled exactly the same. The tenons should be left a little thicker than needed and planed to the exact needed size before glue-up. I left these 1/64" large. Another key element is leaving the boards with several extra inches on each end. Only waste the center leaving the extra length proud so as to support the router. You must transfer the lines from one side to the other very carefully. Mark the guide board, not the cut. This ensures that the guide board remains in the same location and that the cheeks of of each tenon are even on each side once the tenon is fit into the mortise. Mess this up, even a little, and you'll have a big problem.

Once both ends are milled on both sides the boards can be unclamped and the tenons cut to their final size.

I made these tenons quite beefy with only an 1/8" shoulder as I wanted lots of strength and my mortise was being cut into a 6/4 post. After previously milling up the posts they were ready for mortises. I cut these with a mortiser.

I always carefully lay out my cuts on the wood even though I have to set up the machine. This keeps mistakes down to zero (hopefully). Again, lay out all of your pieces, clamped together, at the same time. I even mark out the waste so I don't cut on the wrong side of the line. This is always good practice and is usually learned the hard way. Once the machine is set up the mortises are easily cut and cleaned up with a sharp chisel.

Once all the pieces are cut they are ready for preassembly. This is when you check everything before applying glue. The tenons should fit snugly in the mortises, but not too tightly. Square everything up just as it will be assembled. Plane the tenons to just the right size.

Shop - a simple box

2008-10-20T15:36:00.000-07:00

I had some scrap maple taking up space and had been thinking about making a small box with it. Those thoughts turned into this. This design is superb, but I can't claim the idea of this simple box. However, when I saw the picture I knew the maple was going to be this box. Making boxes is a great way to use scrap and to acquire and gain new skills.

The tiger maple is colored with a water-based aniline stain, and finished with a mixture of linseed oil, polyurethane, and thinner. This kind of finish, as you can see, brings out the beauty of the maple. I enthusiastically recommend this type of finish for many projects and dye for all woods where you need to bring out the figure. It works wonderfully with quarter or rift sawn oak, quilted or tiger maple, sycamore, and many exotics. On the previous picture frame post I did not use dye as I did not want the flake to pop.

The box was formed by using only a box core bit and hand planes. The two sides are simply routered with a 1/2" box core bit at the "handle" while the angled part below is cut off on the table saw leaving half of the original radius. The rounded top of the sides was formed by hand. The sides are lower than the bottom and thus form two legs. The top is hand planed to round with the box core bit forming a hollowed out area in the inside. In addition, the box core bit formed the indent in the front and top which provides a handle. The bottom was fit into a dado. The side and bottom are 1/2". The box is about 12" long and is the new home of Tammi's jewelry.

Shop Made Picture Frames - MDF - post three

2008-10-18T20:11:00.000-07:00

By far the easiest, cheapest, and most numerous frames that I make are made out of MDF. Medium-density fiberboard is an engineered wood product made by breaking down softwood into wood fibers and combining the fibers with wax and a resin binder, and forming the panels by applying high temperature and pressure. It is a building material similar in application to plywood but made up of separated fibers, not wood veneers. It is denser than normal particle board. MDF has a homogeneous structure with uniform texture and properties throughout.There are no identifiable grains or knots seen at the edge, end or face, nor any internal voids or pits or variation in surface hardness. MDF can't be stained or colored like traditional wood so it must be painted. Also, it could be gilded; work I've done on steeples and something I wish to apply to picture frames, but I have yet to try it.

MDF is highly machinable so just about any profile you can machine may be incorporated into the picture frame. It can also be glued together face to face and machined so that profiles thicker than 3/4 can be obtained. In this simple finished example, the frame is about 6 inches wide with a rounded inside and outside. The inside is 1/2" and the outside 1/2" and 3/4" creating a type of torus or thumb. See figure 2. (The painting is by Tammi and is of Bridger sleeping. One of his toys, a large praying mantis, contrasts innocence with impending and inherent danger. There was a lot of light scatter on the painting so the picture isn't the best.)

To create the overall profile I start by ripping 8' runs of the flat sections to the desired width of the frame . Due to weight and cost savings I generally make the flat sections out of 1/2" MDF. I then mill up the various profiles from smaller rips of either 1/2', 3/4" sheet or some glued up combination and then apply the milled profiles to the 8' sections. This effort often results in the use of quite a few clamps along with some creative clamping. After the glue drys I then cut the miters and assemble.

The Miter Sled

The miters must be absolutely precise. The best way to saw wide miters is to build a miter sled for use on the table saw. Of course the wider the miter, the more a fraction of a degree shows. With a picture frame this error is multiplied by eight. This means that a error of 1/8 of a degree will produce, in a picture frame, three tight miters and a miter that is off one degree!

Painted MDF tends to show every flaw, and I mean every little flaw. So, exactitude is critical. The miter sled setup must therefore be exact. A miter sled is built like a typical sled with the guides for the miters fixed at the correct angles rather than having a back fence. The best way to accomplish an exact 45 degree angle is to assemble the sled minus the miter guides and run the sled up and down the table saw with the blade down and off. Mark the front and back of the sled at the exact center of the blade. Draw a line which connects the two points. You now have the exact center line of the blade. Determine the location of the "point" of the miter on the sled along the center line. This line marks the shortest part of the cuts mites, which will be on both the left and right miters. With a beam compass set the one point at the intersection of the back of the sled and the center line. (I suggest using a point rather than a pencil) Stretch the compass to the predetermined point of the miter and scribe a radius. An exact 45 degree angle is now described by the two points which intersect the back of the sled at the outside of the radius and the miter "point". (The rear of the sled must be exactly perpendicular to the center line to achieve accuracy. If not, scribe a perpendicular line to the center line. The further apart all of these line and points are, the greater the accuracy of the setup. The easiest way to accomplish a perpendicular line is to again use your compass. Move the center point along the center line a short distance and increase the diameter. Scribe two points where this radius meets the original radius. Connect these two points with a straight line and you have two perfectly perpendicular lines. ) Next, prepare absolutely straight miter guides for the sled. It is beneficial to cut a small dado along the length of the guide at the intersection of the sled and the guide so any sawdust or other obstruction is prevented from affecting the angle of the miter. Attach the miter guides, add some clamps to keep things in place and you're done.

Three Examples

Figure 1

Figure 2

Figure 3

Finishing

After cutting the miters and glue-up the frames must be painted. Before painting I run a very tight bead of caulk around each milled section. This keeps any small cracks from showing and creates a more professional finish. I always spray paint the frames flat black and then spray a light coating of satin varnish. This keeps the frame from looking flat and also too shiny.

Shop made picture frames - post two

2008-10-05T10:56:00.000-07:00

I thought that I would do a series on picture frames having done the previous post. I get a fair number of hits on the blog for woodworking. Oddly enough wood movement seems to be the most popular. Tendons come a close second. As Tammi is an artist, I've made quite a few frames and have perfected a way of making very cheap ones. I'll cover those next post.

Getting anything framed is a serious investment; however, shop-made frames don't cost too much. Some can even be made for a few dollars. One of the essential elements is design. Time spent in design always pays off. Responding correctly and appropriately to the artwork is essential. Always remember that it is the art that's primary. A frame just shows it off.

Tammi needed a frame for one of her early shows and the painting clearly called for an unusual frame. This is a large painting - just about four feet tall. Tammi came up with an idea and I tried to carry it out. This crazy frame what we came up with in the end. (Double click for a larger view.) The wood is riftsawn oak and came from one board. I found the board at Home Depot while looking for something else and scarfed it up. At a mill it would have gone for many times the price of normal or flat sawn oak.

The point of this frame is that, expect for the curved miters, it is very simple. The painting is held with a simple rabbit which I milled before cutting out the curves. The outer edge is rounded over with a 3/8 roundover bit. The finish is simple Danish Oil, but before putting on the oil I rubbed in red pigment. Thus, the frame has a very subtle red color. With a very complex painting a simple frame works very well. Keeping away from complex wood grain is critical. If you used these curves with a complex grain, the painting would be overcome and the striking curves lost in the conflicting grain.

What is unusual about this frame is the curved miters, but keeping away from straight lines is what really makes this frame sing. I made the curved miters by making a full-sized template of the entire design out of 1/4" plywood. I laid out the full frame and cut the template out, one miter both sides at a time. I had to layout the frame slightly larger than needed to account for the cuts. Thus each miter mirrored the other side. I then worked each side of the miter until both fit tightly as the width of the blade forced the "low points" and "high points" apart. Once all four miters (eight sides) were tightly fit I laid the four templates along the board and marked the board. After cutting out the oak about 1/4" wide of the line I used the template as a router guide and cut left, right, top, and bottom out with the router. I used double sided tape to adhere the plywood to the oak.I assembled the frame using biscuits located on some of the straiter curves.

I like to hang around Tammi's paintings at the openings and listen to the comments. During this opening two men who where quite obviously gallery owners spent some time in front of Tammi's painting. After discussing it at length, one said, "I like the painting, but I could never sell the $800 frame." Wrong, she didn't spend that kind of money, but she does have to put up with me.

Shop made picture frame

2008-09-28T14:35:00.000-07:00

Tammi painted a landscape for me from our Yellowstone vacation of which I'm very fond. This picture does not do it justice, but you'll get the idea.

Early one morning near the end of our vacation we packed up and headed out and the buffalo were heading down to the creek for an early morning drink. The Tetons were still hazy in the morning light and the breath of beasts hung in the air. It was a perfect scene and one I will always remember. Some of the pictures from that morning are on this post.

The painting itself is about two-foot wide and almost four-foot tall, so it's a large work. The painting has been drying for a while and I've been contemplating how best to frame it. I wanted to reflect the ruggedness of the Tetons, but give it a modern feel too. Both aren't easy to accomplish. I've been milling over the design in my head for quite some time. I was all over the place, but I had one overriding idea. I had a piece of beautifully-grained fir that seemed perfect for the piece, but I wanted to push the rugged idea a bit and create a feeling of roughness. I randomly worked the surface with a 1/2" gouge - this took about 3 or 4 hours. I knew it was exactly the look I wanted as soon as I had a small section done and it looked great against the strong grain of the fir. Keeping the gouge sharp and not splintering the splinter-prone fir was quite a challenge, but it was easy to go over the many splintered areas again. That done, I knew I would have to combine the rough look with something smooth and I worked with numerous ideas - a different grained wood, using the fir as a band, inside, outside, similar to a mat, and many more.

I played around with some of my ideas and finally put some of them into CAD. I came up with this. I switched the fir from being lower than the surround to being on top of the surround. I still was unsure of the colors of everything. I initially envisioned the rough fir being stained about the color of the buffalo with the surround being very light using a grainless very even wood. I began shaping the fir.

I cut the straight edges to round forming a gentle curve along each side. I then beveled the back so that the rough board would appear to float over the surround. This created the inside. I wanted a contrast to the roughness of the fir and thus went for something very smooth - I used MDF. I spray painted it black and then gave it a coat of polyurethane. I used a varnish-tung oil mix on the fir. When it came together, I had three nice contrasts; the light and the dark, the rough and the smooth, and the round and the straight. I was quite happy with the results and will no doubt play with this design in the future. It is quite striking and shows off Tammi's work very nicely.

Beef Basin and the Anasazi

2008-07-26T12:30:00.000-07:00

In June the grass grows tall and straight in Beef Basin. It rises from the red clay and the white sand and on strong heads and bares its fruit; lush and green in great waves it bows to the wind as it has for thousands of years. For a brief time it is lord over the sage and king of all that it surveys. But soon the heat will topple its throne, bake its temple as with fire, and then, the wind will only find dust.

The Basin, this improbable place, this enigma, this island, lies wide in the mist of chaos. To the north, hard up against the valley sit the Needles - Ceder Mesa Sandstone worn into knotted canyons, jumbles of small ravines and pinnacles, and vertically walled narrow valleys. To the west lies Gypsum Canyon. Deep and rugged its jagged edge cuts the valley and spews its collected hate into the Colorado - always the lowest elevation in the area and fixed at the confluence of Gypsum and the Colorado at 3,700 ft. To the south-east the Abajo's cut the sky. The highest peak within the range is Abajo Peak at 11,360 ft (3,463 m). These steeply sided peaks covered with impenetrable deep bush, Gambel oak, and Ponderosa Pine are igneous intrusions laid down about 25 million years ago and thus are younger than the surrounding and lower mesas. Much of the water in the south part of the valley derives its source from the flanks of the most westerly peaks. To the south Dark Canyon cuts a ragged swath leading again to the Colorado. The moat complete, the valley rests in its peaceful solitude. I have never seen another soul in Beef Basin. It is visited, but not often.

Beef Basin is an archaeologically rich area. (See The Shell Bead) Although many of the ruins are widely known long explorations in the canyons and washes produce wondrous finds, but be prepared for rough country, climbing, and a little suffering. The ruins range from the open Hovenweep style (albeit with different masonry) of the "The Farm House Ruin" to high cliff dwellings; some extremely hard to find and get up into the ledge systems. The "Farm" complex is quite interesting and connected, I think, to other similar ruins in the valley. At some point in time the valley had a significant population. Interestingly, the farm complex is absent water today, whereas the other similar ruins are all tied to water. I suspect these ruins were abandoned in the drought from 1276 to 1299, but many have held up quite well. Some of the more remote ruins seem newer and still tied to the water that flows there today.

Beef Basin can best be accessed from the north and east with a normal 4x4 from Beef Basin Road, which leaves the pavement at Indian Creek, or from the south and west, on North Cottonwood Road just west of Blandings. From the pavement it is a committing drive either way.

One could easily spend two-weeks wondering among the mesas and canyons and only through several trips there have I truly appreciated its rugged beauty, its uncompromising remoteness, and unusual character of its location.

David Lavender...a Connection

2008-06-26T19:17:00.000-07:00

When I first walked into Lavender Canyon and began to find out who it was named for (and later found differently) I certainly didn't know I would discover that David Lavender and I had a connection of sorts. It's an interesting story.

In One Man's West Lavender has a chapter called High-Altitude Athletics. He spins numerous yarns about our beloved mountains, but one in particular left me thunderstruck. Lavender begins:

There was the time when three of us back-packed into the head of Titcomb gorge in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming. We left timber line far behind, slogging along a stream milky with the floured rock discharged by the glaciers. The gorge was hung with a necklace of tiny sapphire lakes shimmering in cups of solid rock. Patches of moss were springy underfoot from snow just gone; draft blossoms of forget-me-not, primrose, king's-crown, and gentian, unable to exist in these rigorous climes as single plants formed societies of solid color. Bibs of white circled the peaks. Rank after rank, tier after tier. Thumbs and fingers and fists all pointing skyward. A dazzling world of swift, sharp lines and crystal light.

He goes on to describe the climb and near the end he identified the peak: Twin Peaks; which, because they were the first ascenders, they named. He never said who the other men where, but when I read Twin peaks my memory was taken back to 1991 and I was suddenly sure I had seen his name before and in his own hand.

Ross and I always kept a climbing journal and we've traded possession of the little worn green book a number of times. Currently, he was the keeper. I sent him an email and asked him to call me that night with the book in hand. He did, I read him the story, he let out a yell at the sound of Twin Peaks. He too had remembered. He looked up the day and we had a great time remembering the climb.

In 1991 my buddy and I climbed Gannet in the Wind Rivers walking from Gypsum Creek west of Green River Lakes to do so. We came out in Elkhart Park - a journey of about 60 miles through some pretty rough country; much of it trailless. After we climbed Gannet, we came back down on the west side of the divide and broke camp and headed for Titcomb Basin on the east of the divide via a peak that was almost never climbed - Twins Peak. On it was the original summit register (something I had never seen nor have ever heard of since that time, and I think a rare and interesting document) and the first name on the list was D. Lavender. The date of our climb was 13 August 1991 and the date Lavender listed was 10 August 1930. The three climbers were Lavender, Dudley Smith, and Bucknell. Three days later on 13 August 1930 Lavender climbed the peak again with Forrest Greenfield and Kendrick - the same day we were on the summit, but 61 years later. I recall a note they left calling Twins a"miserable summit". With the exception of a few early climbers around that 1930 date; including Petzolt and Koven (killed on Denali), no one climbed the peak again until late in the 1950's.

Lavender closed out his story of Twins with a story of suffering, but he said this first of that day.

Sitting in such a spot, hugging your knees, you can sense as a tangible thing the hurtling sweep of the earth on its orbit. The very vastness of the pattern stabs you to the heart. But it is not humility. Man would not aspire; he would not be laying his bold chains on every cosmic force he can reach were he only meek. The insignificance some persons profess to feel on seeing a natural wonder which more determined men, given motive, could sail over, tunnel under, or fly around is to me incomprehensible-a hang-over, perhaps, of the oriental fatalism that early tinged our religion. Why not a healthier pride-without arrogance-in being able to muster the courage to see and touch and share the fringes of creation, knowing that if we work well others can share still more?

The photos that day only have Ross on the summit, thus this is Twins looking north-west with my friend on the summit. The next picture is of me, but the previous day having climbed Gannet.(note the wool shirt and wool pants - it really doesn't seem that long ago!)

The Desert and the Anasazi - Lavender Canyon

2008-05-21T09:25:00.000-07:00

The cliffs and mesas on the Colorado Plateau are a unique place with unique qualities. The red walls peel away memory – the memory of other places, of other times, and even the memory of self until all that is left is this space – this red cathedral and the thousands of years it whispers of in a thundering, but empty and still crescendo. The cliffs rise as memories fade.

Although I have not wandered in these canyons for almost a year, the intervening time is stolen – filtered in the sands - lost. That year fades like a single drop of sweat on hot Navajo Sandstone until even the feeling of memory is lost. Now, this place, this time is all I have; all I know; and all I desire - a jealous lover whose beauty bares no wayward glance and whose caress steals the heart – forever. It is also best to pay attention to this lover in the heat of summer or she will have her vengeance.

I have journeyed here again to find the anasazi, to wander in the beauty of the desert, and to lose myself; to let sun bleach my soul, to filter it through the hot sand and to have the ancients return it to me cleansed and clear. They have walked here until decades are measured in moments — they know the paths, the secret places, and the beginning and end of a footstep and the sum of a life. Perhaps the solitude here is part of the revelation - the serenity drives a kind of relentless introspection.

I lean heavy against the red escarpment as if to push it away like great Atlas or Hercules - palms outstretched, fingers pointed toward the sky, back bent, head bowed. The moments slip and I think about these things. The week lies ahead. Eventually, I pull away and stand erect. The moisture of my palm prints, much like the painted palm prints of the Anasazi, traces the outlines my hand. Another journey begins -discovery in many forms awaits.

Lavender Canyon lies between Bridger Jack Mesa and Salt Creek Canyon on the south side of Canyonlands National Park. I wished to explore the upper and deeper part of the canyon because of its proximity to Salt Creek Canyon. Tammi and I had been backpacking down Salt Creek a couple of years back and were surprised by the number of ruins and gliffs. Salt Creek has the largest ruin outside of Mesa Verde (Big Ruin) and is home to such famous pictographs as All American Man and the Four Faces.

Lavender Canyon was named after David Lavender. Twice nominated for a Pulitzer prize this rancher and all-around western man; who was mostly a hard scrabble cowboy, put his mark on western history and literature. Near Durango, as a young man, he worked a silver mine and on his stepfather's cattle ranch as a cowboy, helping with all the work until a drought and the Depression forced the ranch's closure. Near to my heart he was also an avid mountaineer. Among other things, he was a Princeton grad. He later became a dedicated conservationist. He realized the west he knew was dying and the result of this realization was his most well-read book which was published in 1943, "One Man's West". The book is in reprint by Bison Books and out in a new edition with notes and added material by David Lavender's son, David G. Lavender.

Armed with a permit you can drive into Lavender Canyon from Canyonlands, but that approach is best for uninitiated and untested. It is best approached from the most south-southwestern side of Bridger Jack Mesa. The 4x4 road that leads north around the west side of Bridger Jack makes for an easy passage, but it is a bit narrow. I don't know the name of the Mesa the road sits on (it is unnamed on the topo), but the camping on the Mesa is fine. Let's call it Little Bridger Jack Mesa. The mesa burned quite some time ago, so the top is mostly grass and offers easy going. I found the reason for the fire on the way back up. There is an old uranium mine just off the cliff on the southwest corner. It looks like the miner's camp was the source of the fire.

The way down off Little Bridger Jack is hard and the way up even harder, but it does make a good day's walk. You can also get down Dry Fork Canyon - I walked around to look off the side and the way is quite easy. The north end of Little Bridger Jack looks passable on the topo, but the lower wall can not be breached without a rope.

Lavender Canyon is deep and the walls consistently vertical. The first picture shows the central part of the canyon - about 1000 foot from the mesa top to the creek at the bottom. There are ruins in the canyon and some looking around will reward a good search; however, the wild parts of the canyon are pristine and the wildflowers were wonderful - Shooting Star, Pestemon, Desert Indian Paintbrush, coreopsis, and plenty of blooming cactus.

In a side canyon I found fresh cougar track, the rear paw measuring just over 4" wide. He was a big boy and I was weary coming back at dusk that evening. A few deer tracks and a bit of water gave up the reason for his night's vigil. (I've looked at this picture a few times and sometimes get the illusion that the print is "pushed up", not in to the soil - if you get that look again) There were few signs of the usual leftovers of Anasazi habitation in the canyon itself. Although the Anasazi did live here I suspect the times were shorter and the water and game scarcer. I saw no gliffs except at the ruins; however, there are more than likely some around. The wall are generally dead vertical too - there simply aren't many building sites.

As soon as I got near the lower parts of the canyons the deer flies began to attack in hordes. I nearly went crazy slapping and swatting and Deet didn't make any difference whatsoever. I eventually put on pants and the incessant biting stopped - the horde just swarmed my legs. I seldom wear pants in the desert, but from now on in June I think I will always wear them. The gnats and no-see-ems were no fun either. I'm still itching a week later.

Besides the canyon itself there is another reason to visit; Cleft Arch. Cleft arch is a graceful and massive arch, thick and even, wide and tall. It juts into the the canyon and demands a visit. I approached it from the south and begin to friction the lower steep slaps and faced climbed the remainder. It can be free climbed, but it took me some time to work it out and I am a fairly experienced climber (the face: friction -5.9, face - 5.7/8). I recommend the northern side as it provides only a steep walk. Begin up thru the narrow slot when you first see the northern side of the arch. Of interest is the arch itself - its name becomes apparent once inside. It is now actually two arches joined together by a narrow, but very deep cleft no more than 1/2" wide. Lying on the hot sand blue sky is visible thru the vertical shaft, which must be 30 or more feet thick.

I walked and explored throughout the day and in the afternoon periodically sought some shade as I began to overheat. The canyon become hotter and the little thermometer on my pack strap soon slipped to 110 degrees. The afternoon, the sand, the ceders, the cactus, and the terrain turned against me. I had gone too far, climbed too much and still had much of the mesa to ascend to get to camp. I ran out of water and I had started with 200 oz - more than 1-1/2 gal. The setting sun gave me respite from the heat and I struggled slowly up the last 700 foot of Little Bridger Jack Mesa, through the cliff bands, and made my way toward camp. I had suffered a good bit in the end, but the day was worth the effort. The thirteen-hour exploration had left its mark and tomorrow I would drive to Beef Basin. Here's how David Lavender said it:

"Fortunately God gave man a poor memory for physical discomfort. The active ingredients which made the hurt so brutal at the moment lose their keen edge in retrospect: we are able to look back on them with certain detachment and even make them subject matter of our dearest conversation pieces."

These canyons don't yield their beauty easily - especially in late June and the home of the Anasazi is seldom hospitable. Discovery is never easy - any kind of discovery.

Correction! I had read that Lavender Canyon was named for David Lavender, but according to a much better source, David G. Lavender (the writers grandson), Lavender Canyon is named for Ed Lavender (David Lavender's step-father). Apparently, Ed used to drive cattle he bought from Ed Scorup ( the then owner of the Dugout Ranch on Indian Creek now just outside Canyonlands National Park). See page 328 of the new edition of "One Man's West". Anyway, I'll keep the post - surely Ed would approve of his son's fame.

Ishi

2008-02-02T07:56:00.000-08:00

I was in a used bookstore in Gunnison not too long ago and found a book I've been interested in reading for a while. Published in 1961, the book is a fascinating account that terminates a part of western history with a viscerally and debilitatingly sad ending.

In August 1911 an emaciated Indian stumbled out of the Neolithic world near Mill Creek on the Mt. Lassen (in his language - Waganupa) foothills and into the brilliant lights of the twentieth century. Save from an old covered wagon cloth that he wore over his shoulders like a poncho, he had no modern object. He spoke no English, not a word. In fact, he had never had any contact with any white man whatsoever. (Except for some tragic contacts that we'll delve into later.)

He was the last wild Indian.

Ishi's life is one of tragedy and sadness and his story - more than any bloody massacre, more than Sand Creek, more than the Trail of Tears, and more than the gut wrenching emotion behind Chief Joseph's last lament; "I will fight no more forever" - shows us who we were and what we did. He was the Mohicans, he was the Apache, he was the Nez Perce, and he was the Blackfeet, but more tragically so. For the Yana, (Ishi's people) are unknown - they were quite simply exterminated until only one remained - Ishi.

The Yana had lived in about a 2000 sq. mile area around Mt. Lassen for about 2- or 3000-years. This number is surmised from the glottochronology. In an area smaller than Rhode Island they had lived so long that four separate dialects from the Hokan had developed - some not intelligible to other. Of interest is that the Yana language was sex-differentiated; that is, that the men spoke a different language to the woman than to each other. For example, the word grizzly bear, t'en'ta spoken by the males was t'et in the female language. The woman no doubt knew the male language, but did not speak it as the men spoke in the female language to the women.

When Ishi was born in about 1862 the Yani had already been hunted for many years and the southern group (the Yahi), Ishi's band, was thought extinct. The white men had killed or enslaved many thousands of Yani. However, a small family group had survived which included Ishi's mother and sister. This small, terrified group, unbelievably, had remained hidden for almost forty-years. Until, that is, a small group of men stumbled upon their hidden camp. Ishi's mother was left behind because of age and infirmary. The rest scattered. Even with the sick women present the men took all the food and tools. They left nothing. Ishi never saw his sister again and assumed she was killed; however, she most likely starved or was killed by wild animals. Without food and stores Ishi's mother died. Ishi morned his mother and now he was alone. The last Yahi - the last pure Indian.

He lived in this state until he walked out in 1911.

His story is told here in shortened version. Google Ishi - there's a lot of stuff out there and it's worth reading.

Ishi in Two Worlds - A Biography of the Last Wild Indian in North America, Theodora Kroeber

The Department of State and Me

2007-10-21T12:34:00.000-07:00

On October 13th, just after lunch, someone from Reston VA did a Google Search for "artis brazee". They found, among other things, my Blog. They spent about 8 minutes on "thoughts from the wrong side of the brain" and viewed every page of my Blog, now almost 80 posts. Their IP address was the Department of State, which is located in Reston. The other famous place in Reston is the CIA.

Why would the Department of State be interested in my Blog? It seems they were interested in my travel.

They must have found my receipt for the turban, Damn!

Take this - here's a satellite photo of your State Department office at 1861 Wiehle Ave # 200, with your burgundy Toyota Camry out front - you were late for work!

Reston
Domain Name state.gov ? (U.S. Government)
IP Address 169.252.4.# (U.S. Department of State)
ISP U.S. Department of State
Location
Continent : North America
Country : United States (Facts)
State : Virginia
City : Reston
Lat/Long : 38.9579, -77.3439 (Map)
Distance : 1,564 miles
Language English (U.S.)
en-us
Operating System Microsoft WinXP
Browser Internet Explorer 6.0
Mozilla/4.0 (compatible; MSIE 6.0; Windows NT 5.1; SV1; InfoPath.1)
Javascript version 1.3
Monitor
Resolution : 1024 x 768
Color Depth : 32 bits
Time of Visit Oct 13 2007 12:32:44 am
Last Page View Oct 13 2007 12:40:06 am
Visit Length 7 minutes 22 seconds
Page Views 8
Referring URL http://www.google.co...hl=en&q=artis brazee
Search Engine google.com
Search Words artis brazee
Visit Entry Page http://abrazee.blogs...7_07_01_archive.html
Visit Exit Page http://abrazee.blogs.../search/label/travel
Out Click
Time Zone UTC+4:00
Visitor's Time Oct 13 2007 11:02:44 am
Visit Number 617

Sign of the times (at a college!)

2007-10-20T08:44:00.001-07:00

We went down to Gunnison to see Erin this weekend. It was parents weekend. Western is a small school - about 2000 or so and it has a small town feel.

At the football game the half-time "event" was sponsored by a local eatery specializing in southern BBQ. Of course, southerners love their tea with sugar; however, the sugar has to be added when the tea is brewed to be just right. Thus, advertising this southern staple is an important part of a true southern restaurant.

This is the sign paraded at half-time. We couldn't figure out what "sweat tea"was; however, we do hope Erin learns better spelling!

Maybe a big kettle and a few fresh football jerseys....yum.

Water - part two

2007-10-12T18:45:00.000-07:00

The sand and tall reed grass broke my fall. I rolled down the bank, the dry sand mingling with the sweat. I could smell the earthy scent of the water; a forgotten smell, a smell foreign to these secret mesas and canyons.

First things first – before my absolution, before my baptism, I needed assurance that I could escape. I went down to the tree and found I could easily pick up the smaller end. It was a very tall cedar of about 150 year’s age; now a whitened, wooden bone. In this red sand most of the pinions and cedars grow short and gnarled; twisted with the desire to live; however, this one was tall. Anything that manages to begin here grows old with the effort. On the previous day I had looked for and found a dried and dead cedar and cut off a bottom branch and counting the rings found they had numbered more than 280. Due to the arid environment, sometimes forty rings fit into an inch. I guessed the tree itself to be about 400 years old, but even at this great age it had not known the Anasazi who called this place home. This straight and fallen tree must have grown in a sheltered spot somewhere up the canyon until it was ripped from its privileged home by the demon that had created this magical place.

The trees here are ancient and even in death last centuries standing alone in the desert, sentinels to the past, unable to fall, unable to give back to the sand, their life having ebbed hundreds of years before. Dendrochronologists, using tree rings, can date a 11th or 12th century Anasazi ruin to the exact year of construction having built a record from the rings of good years and bad years. Records now go back into the 800's depending on the area.

With some effort I was able to drag the dried hulk toward the overhang. The endeavor added to the misery of the sand and sweat, but with the promise of water fulfilled it was unnoticed. I maneuvered the heavy end of the tree closest to the wall and rested; seated on the ground, legs drawn up, triceps on knees, hands extended, wrists bowed, head bent low, dripping sweat into the sand; the round drops pulling and pushing small craters in the surface - the spots extinguished and gone almost before they began. Returning to the top end of the tree I straight-armed the trunk over my head and fought it upright; walking toward the base until it stood once again. For a moment I wasn't sure I could make the final few feet. I wrestled it straight and it fell with a hallow thud against the overhang. I had my escape - my return to the rim; I could complete my redemption and wash away the sand, the sweat, the salt, and the stench.

I returned to the edge of the pool and removed all of the fetored white-encrusted vestiges of my humanity and stood naked in the air. With deliberate care I stepped into the pool, the ripples giving away the secret. It seemed holy, a place I shouldn't be. For a moment I thought my filth might remove the magic, might steal the wild. The water was cold, bone cold. The temperature seemed out of place - foreign.

The effect of the water was as much magical as real, as much anticipation as reality, as much an abstract thought as chilled flesh. Before I had committed to the jump I had collected all the many small rivulets and forced them together with small dams of sand. I stood within that small waterfall, waist deep; my sins washing away, my rebirth complete.

Later, I climbed the rim, my freshly washed shirt now wet with sweat - soon to be white.

Water - part one

2007-09-29T09:26:00.000-07:00

I had been walking in the desert among the mesas and canyons for five days. This was the last day. As I set off my shirt rubbed coarsely against my flesh. The water that cooled me throughout each day drained and pulled the salt from deep within; my shirt, now white and rough, was stained with the previous days' efforts. The Camalback's pack straps were also covered with small, white crystals, but inside was 100 oz of water soon to add to the ghostlike white stiffened fabric. A ring around my wide-brimmed hat told the same story.

Already it was hot.

I stepped into the dry, desiccated sand of Gypsum Creek. The drop was only several inches deep - a mere depression in the sage flat. But, down the slight grade, about 100 yards distance, the Creek made its first drop - almost 100 feet - and became Gypsum Canyon. With it fell the sand and the freshly loosened debris of Beef Basin. Sometimes though it carried the rocks and trees and the remnants of the ghosts who lived here long ago. The water, and that which it has torn away, races down into the depths of the canyon headed directly for the Colorado River some 3 or 4 miles distant; the mouth of Gypsum Canyon opening up its red maw into that great chasm and the river accepting all it will give. Time will ensure that everything here will eventually end up in the Colorado to then be swept further down into Lake Powell; slowly filling the Lake and slowly starving the great cities in California, Nevada and Arizona.

I skirted the south rim and imagined the canyon growing deeper. I could not see the bottom; it was too narrow and the rim held me away from the full view. I took a first sip of water. Each drink is a measured calculation against the day. Will it run out? Will I drink too much? Will the return trip be marred by the focused and frantic drive to quench the emptiness within? The fear of stumbling through the pinions and sage, oblivious to all but desire, controls the craving to extinguish the devil inside and the water he summons, but the battle rages nevertheless.

I followed the track between the pinions beside the south rim, but caught a sound almost lost to the wind. I stopped. I thought I heard the drip of water echoing from the depths. At first I wasn't sure - it seemed not a drip, nor a stream. The wind slowed and the sound collected and rose. The thought of coolness reached up and engulfed my entire being. I imagined a refreshing, deep pool. I vowed to return at the end of the day and plunge into the darkness of the canyon baptizing myself in the bliss and washing away the sins of the week. Forged by the wind and baked hard by the sun that thought remained throughout the day .

Fable Canyon joins Gypsum Canyon, but the larger of the two is Fable. I wanted to peer into its depths so I understood how to best traverse it on a future trip. As I walked west the views opened to include the entire valley system. Rugged, deep, steep and massive the cliffs tumble red and wonderful until the entire landscape seems to scream for you to turn back, yet beckons with a whisper for you to try. I clamored out, now out of the shelter of the cliffs and hills, to a point where the two canyons meet; the wind tearing at this interloping salty apparition, snapping at itself until at thought I would be picked clean of the sandstone and hurled into the abyss. Only the hot wind of the desert seems to have evil purpose. The cold winds of the high summits seem benign as they pull and push on your crampons, but these rushing desert winds tear at you with furious purpose.

Seven-hundred foot straight down was the bottom swept clean of even color. The rushing water had left nothing. I returned and followed the meandering rim of Fable south until I could see its beginnings. Next time I'll descend into Fable and follow it to the Colorado. It would however, not be easy.

With the thought of the water I retraced my steps. Turning east the wind abated and the stillness and heat descended and suffered nothing. I found a cool, low alcove and crawled in and lay in the dirt; the dust mingling with the salt, the smell, and the sweat. I rested and ate a little nodding off a bit thinking about the promise and the sound of water...

I returned to the place I heard the water like a salmon to the place it was born. I was drawn there, I did not have to know the way. The sound remained. I walked the rim looking for a weakness and found it at a small bend in the canyon. I descended the cliff bands finding a weakness in each, sometimes hanging and dropping and sometimes climbing down or jumping from block to block.

The solid limestone bottom held no stream, no coolness, no respite. It was swept clean; the water sculpting and cutting the rock into that which it desired - that which fed its inexorable journey toward the Colorado. I walked down the canyon till it was joined by side canyon equal in size to itself. The canyon narrowed into what I could not see into earlier in the day. I could hear falling water. The limestone became smooth, the canyon walls polished, water appeared.

The limestone was flat and about forty-feet wide and the water meandered across the bottom, but it was just a trickle flowing here and there sometimes breaking up and sometimes coming together. It formed small pools no more than an inch or so deep. I could see that the canyon dropped and I walked toward the sound of the water, the heat eating my flesh and baking my bones white and hot to the touch.

The red canyon walls straightened and the desert blue sky narrowed. In a crescent moon shape the limestone floor abruptly fell away to a glistening pool about 25 below. The clear water beckoned. The small trickle fell into the pool in more than a dozen spots creating the sound that tantalized me far above. The falls were undercut; the softer sandstone having eroded far under the harder limestone. I looked around for a way down - I found none. The smooth walls held no holds. Being a climber, I can get up and down most anything, especially a small vertical distances with many choices. I prodded and hung and plotted. The problem was not getting down, but getting back up. I could jump, but I couldn't even imagine a line to get up again. I could see that the canyon continued to plunge so I couldn't bank on an escape further down. Likely, there were more drops.

I sat on the edge, a mad man longing for that just out of grasp. The wind was gone. The heat between the walls collected; oppressive, unrelenting, unforgiving.

Not ready to give up; compelled by thought of the pool and a natural shower, I went back up the canyon thinking I might find a suitable tree to drag down and tip over the edge. Hydrus had swept his palace clean - they had all been swept away. Seemingly I could not commute my sentence. My sins would remain. But...looking down again past the falls I could see a large tree trunk striped clean of all branches. I thought I could move it; I thought it would work. I hung over the side and let go.

cont..

Comb Ridge - Post Six, recent and recomended

2007-09-23T10:29:00.000-07:00

If you're interested in Comb Ridge this book; Sandstone Spine, by David Roberts is a good introduction. This is the book that led me to Comb Ridge. It is the story of Climber David Roberts, climber and writer Greg Child, and wilderness guide Vaughn Hadenfeldt's backpacking trip along the spine. It has much about the Anasazi, but the narrative isn't terribly exciting and they fail on describing both the natural history and the history of the place. All in all a good read.

For some really great prose and desert wonder I recommend House of Rain: Tracking a Vanished Civilization Across the American Southwest by Craig Childs. This man knows the desert and is an excellent writer. I admire his style and knowledge.

Through his studies of the land and its history, seeking out of oral tradition and hundreds of miles of walking the landscape in search of clues, Craig Childs has turned his considerable talents for reading the landscape and turning his observations into wonderful prose towards the mystery of what happened to the Anasazi of 800 to 1000 years ago. Childs uses his travels, his inquisitiveness and imagination to write a plausible history of the Anasazi... tracing their exodus from Chaco and the Colorado Plateau south into Mexico. An academic could never leap to the conclusions that Childs postulates, however most archaeological papers don't touch the soul. Child's book does. He has crisscrossed the desert southwest to find out how this ancient civilization converged on places like Chaco Canyon and Mesa Verde, where its culture thrived and flourished, and why these hubs of civilization dried up and its people seemingly scattered into the wind.

One of his other great books is The Secret Knowledge of Water. In a poetic account he brings the sand to life in these pages. His writing on pockets and tinajas is especially good. Childs shares beauty, science, historical anecdote and research in a nice balance and with extremely good writing.

For reading about the Anasazi a good primer is The Mesa Verde World: Explorations in Ancestral Puebloan Archeology edited by David Grant Noble. Key topics include farming, settlement, sacred landscapes, cosmology and astronomy, rock art, warfare, migration, and contemporary Pueblo perspectives. Winston Hurst, an archaeologist who has been most kind to me, has a chapter about sacred Landscapes.

Winston said this: "Sacredness is not implicit in the landscape. Rather, it is a purely subjective property that exists on in the eye or heart of the beholder." I find a lot of that. I hope you enjoyed the Comb Ridge series and have a real sense of the place.

Comb Ridge - Post Five, Butler Wash

2007-09-21T18:25:00.000-07:00

Butler Wash parallels Comb Wash like two wild-eyed stallions bent on some distant finish line; neither fast enough to pass the other. Nostrils flared, both rush toward the San Juan River to the south. They are about a half-mile apart, but a world away - Comb Ridge separates them.

Butler Wash seems hotter and dryer. There is less vegetation - not that Comb Wash is any jungle. It bares the heat of the sun for the entire day whereas Comb Wash luxuriates in the long cool morning shadow of Comb Ridge and the long evening shadow of Ceder Mesa. Even the pinions avoid the lower half. Closely to the east lies Black Mesa whose cliffs rise above the sage, but not too far - usually about 100 to 200 feet. To the west, white bare sandstone rises almost directly out of the wash creating an almost unbroken 20 degree plane rising toward the setting sun and Ceder Mesa. Upon reaching the top of the unbroken slickrock Comb Wash lies about 800 feet below. This snake-like summit is broken along its entire length by deep washes carved out of the solid sandstone. It is in these deep, narrow canyons that the Anasazi made their cliff dwellings. (In the picture below, taken within one of the deep washes, you can see Black Mesa to the east)

Along the wash, at various times, they lived in the pit houses I have described; they planted and harvested corn, beans, and squash; and they roamed the area for the many other food items they collected. They were the masters of the land.

I approached this wash a little differently. The road roughly followed the wash north and I stopped often doing one or two-hour walks up into the Comb. Although this side was drier there seemed to be more habitation. At each stop I headed into one of the deep washes. Each held their own secret. The angled sandstone was white-hot in the noon sun; almost unbearable, but the washes were cool. I waited till evening to climb the ridge.

There was some water in the the deeply cut washes, but not too much. And, Butler Wash only ran during rains and drained a limited area. But, when it did rain there was as much solid rock as soil and the wash must become a torrent. All day I looked for the water and all day I wondered.

I camped early, tired from the three days and somewhat beaten by the heat. I went up one more canyon and came back sitting in the only shade around - a grove of stunted and hardy oak trees. I wasn't the only one to find this place. The ruins of a Navajo hogan from the 1950's was nearby and just beyond that the telltale concave depression of a pit house. A Pinyon Jay kept me company while I rested and ate.

I picked up and headed up the comb. Where the sandstone met the soil I found a depression containing maybe 20 or 30 gallons of water. I bent and drank deeply and tasted the earth. I wound my way up the rough sandstone, skirting the drops and climbing now and again. Soon I found my answer. There were solid sandstone depressions containing pools of water everywhere. Some were crystal clear, some turbid, some even contained tadpoles. This barren, solid rock is where the water was stored in the cleanest vessel nature could find. In a space of a few acres there were 50 or so. In Spanish these water pockets are called tinajas and to desert travelers they are almost holy. I stood on earth's spine looking north and south and the view of white sandstone seemed unending. Black clouds gathered and I headed down.

Every evening, after the clouds build, the thunder roles across the desert. Far off darkness tells of rain and water. Lighting flashes far off into the night. Every night I watched this show usher out the sun. This evening I received just a few drops with the now answered water question quenched. The thunder crashed, a lone cicada serenaded the coming darkness, the crickets came out into the coolness, and far off two coyotes called to each other for the night hunt to begin.

The clouds fled with the darkness and I watched the stars come out. Again, I had found a lifetime in a few short days. I will return and find these places and feed upon stillness, glory in the beauty, and wrap my soul in the spirit of the people who called this home.

Comb Ridge - Post Four, Comb Wash Thoughts

2007-09-09T18:53:00.000-07:00

Link to satellite map

I woke up in the shadow of the ancient ones, their leaves still in the dark early morning air. Orion to the east stood on the back of Comb Ridge. I wondered by what name the Anasazi knew him by. They were gifted astrological observers cleverly noting the sumer and winter solstices and other celestial events. Surely, they awoke and knew how much longer they could slumber by his position in their carefully framed windows. They would have associated him with winter, just as we do. He would have told them their grainaries should be full.

Near here, not 30 meters distance, they lived in a pit house or kiva - cool in summer, warm in winter. The perfect abode for this place. Generations had refined its design, made elegant chimneys, perfected the placement of the firepit, its fireback, and the drafts needed to retain the heat and keep the fire small. I imagined them in this place, in these trees, fetching water; checking beans, corn, and squash, waking up...

I drove south to climb Comb Ridge and return north through Butler Wash, not because I was done with Comb Wash. I have only started. But, before I leave, a little history.

The Hayden Survey (1874-1876) published the first map depicting the geographic, archaeological and geological features of southeastern Utah, including key archaeological sites on “Epson Creek,” now known as Comb Wash. Those of you who read my blog have heard me over and over again comment on camping where the Hayden Survey once camped. I once again crossed their path.

Later, the Mormons would make a little history here. The Mormon Trail intersects with Comb Wash Road and the trail still climbs upward toward Ceder Mesa through something called the twist. A Mormon delegation of settlers established the trail in 1880 and a six-week trip turned into a six-month over-winter trip full of unimaginable hardships. Seeing the country and imagining a wagon train attempting to cross it is a sobering thought indeed. Their full story has a bit of suffering. Here's a short version of the journey.

One other historical event of note happened in Comb Wash. William Posey, chief of a small tribe of Paiutes that roamed southeastern Utah at the turn of the century, was mortally wounded in 1923 by a posse in the Comb Wash area, hid there, and then died. He was apparently a bid of a bad guy, but of course the Indians were treated terribly. Posey was the last "hostile" Indian killed in the United States. His grave is in the canyon somewhere, but it was at least dug up twice just after he died. It is an interesting bit of history. Find it here.

With my coffee, in this stillness, surrounded by the red rocks, the cottonwoods, and the sand all of this history is timeless. Posey still hides in his cave bleeding and dying. Corn, planted in clumps greets the new day, Anasazi turkeys fly down from their night's roost, and the Mormon settlers greet a new day of suffering.

The heat gathered and I loaded up the truck.

Comb Ridge - Post Three, Fish Creek

2007-09-09T08:00:00.001-07:00

The name Fish Creek implies water and indeed the creek does have water, but it does not flow in the traditional sense. However, there is enough water that most of the pools aren't stagnant, but are refreshed by seep and infrequent rains from the the creek's large drainage lying west toward Ceder Mesa. The water courses down through miles of sand and bedrock, collects, and feeds life for miles around. I saw raptors come to drink here in the evening and the prints of deer and coyote coming and going. In the wash I also saw bear scat - perhaps he was not an infrequent visitor. The accumulated pools are numerous and shallow, collecting in some areas, but absent in most others. And no, I didn't see any fish.

There is one other element to the water in the canyon. It brings life, but sometimes it kills. The evidence is written in the narrows; high water marks more than eight foot high, twisted piles of debris, massive rocks heaved against broken piles of chaos. As it rises, fed by the many, many square miles of exposed sandstone the torrent seeks nothing, but destroys everything in its path; especially, if that path is narrowed or restricted.

The canyon is dotted with ruins and seems to contain many eras of settlements. Only general inferences can be drawn without the archeologist's work, but there are clearly many kinds of structures and styles. Where the canyon joins Comb Wash there is a pit house; considered one of the earliest structures. There are many types of cliff dwellings, some clearly not intended for any kind of defense whatsoever. The two-hundred-fifty-year period subsequent to A.D. 900 is known as Pueblo II and seems the best fit for many of these ruins. But, there was one that was so clearly intended for defense or warfare I have never seen its equal. High on the mesa, up on a mushroom rock, unapproachable, and unreachable to me was a ruin. I have included it a picture of it here. It took a tremendous amount of work to get the material in place. It is a very defensible position, but I question its utility as you could be penned there with no escape. It is quite a sight, high up on the mesa silhouetted against the cloudless sky. I wasn't even sure it was a ruin at first - it seemed too improbable. If it was built for defense it is hard to imagine the fear the inhabitants lived in. Was it for the woman and children? Whatever the reason, this wash was last inhabited about 1250.

Some of the masonry is rather rough and some structures are built very skillfully. Generations lived here - the span is almost unbelievable; about 2000 years. It may have been sporadic and discontinuous, but not so much as we might imagine with our rather insignificant 250-year history. In one ruin a large flat rock used to grind grain (matate) worn with years and years of use was recycled; raised on its side and incorporated as part of a new structure.

It was a good day and an interesting place to visit. Even more interesting because there is nothing fantastic, nothing to bring the masses. It is the ordinary, the everyday - a place where 1000 years seem near history, uncelebrated, unphotographed - quiet and unassuming. That is the true magic of the place. And the hand prints outlined on the walls, their souls long departed, still mark the place with their work and the stones they set. We could only hope to leave a mark 1000 years later so those who passed wondered at the sight.

Comb Ridge - Post Two, High Mesa Ruin

2007-09-07T17:04:00.000-07:00

The topo map indicated that there was a ruin up an unnamed wash high up on Ceder Mesa. I only had half-a-day of light having gotten up at 4:00 to begin driving. I thought I could make it to the top. I grabbed my stuff and headed west toward Ceder Mesa. As soon as I hit a high spot I was able to orient the map, make sure I was headed toward the right spot, and haul out the glasses to figure out a way up the steep terrain. There are always ways up the cliffs and across the steep terrain, but if you don't plan it out the most likely outcome is you'll become rim-rocked; this is, stuck and backtracking.

By the way, I took this picture not to show the location of ruin, but in the foreground you will see part of a bowl-shaped depression that was once a pit house or similar structure. While walking I found a single shard, which I though odd, but by making circles found the reason for the "homeless" shard; the depression. I was to find three of these during the trip. I mapped the locations and sent them to Utah archaeologist Winston Hurst. He is a consulting archaeologist who lives and works in his home town of Blanding, Utah. He received a Master of Arts degree in anthropology from Eastern New Mexico University and has been actively engaged in archaeological research in the Colorado Plateau since the early 1970s. He is currently the co-principal investigator for the Comb Ridge Survey Project. The Comb Ridge Survey Project, a multi-year archaeological inventory survey of a 42,000-acre area encompassing Comb Ridge and the adjacent Butler and Comb Washes, is inventorying all the ruins at Comb Ridge to include ancient camps, food gathering and processing stations, storage facilities, settlements, shrines, ancient Puebloan roads, Navajo hogans and historic ranching and mining sites.

On the way up, there were many limestone layers mixed in with the sandstone with deeply red chert inclusions (in geology - a mineral or rock enclosed in a larger body of rock). Pieces large and small were scattered across the desert and no doubt was a large source of stone tools. I found chippings of this chert during the entire trip. I'm quite certain this area must have been well known for this material.

The climb was well worth the effort. In the picture you can clearly see the deflector stone of the kiva located in the foreground. Comb ridge points south off in the distance. It was a very defensible site with water located in the form of drips several hundred feet up just at the lip of Ceder Mesa. It wasn't an easy site to get to and didn't afford any easy route to go anywhere. Interestingly, the debris pile was cut vertically by water erosion and the layers clearly indicated the site had been abandoned several times and reoccupied. Some of the abandonment layers were more than an inch thick. I don't know what that would equate to in time, but I suspect more than 100 to several hundred years. One of charming things in abundance in most of these ruins, including this one, is the finger prints still clearly visible in the mud walls. Most of the fingers seem to be quite small.

I spent some time sitting and imagining what it might be like to live there. I wanted to climb up and check out the area, but time was ticking and I didn't want to go into the night. I hustled off the mesa and returned to the truck.

I drove down Comb Wash and found a nice place to camp among the cottonwoods. I went out to take pictures of the Comb as the sun was setting and walked back in the deepening dusk. I heard a noise off to my left and peered into the willows, but didn't see anything. As I walked away I stopped to check out the possibility of another picture and something caught my side vision or perhaps there was some small sound. I turned around and WOW, a bear! I truly thought I was seeing something else, but he was only dozen or so feet away. I snapped this picture of what must be the most southern desert bear ever seen, and he was moving south in a hurry. I guess he wasn't in the mood for a fight for he barely gave me a sideways glance.

Click below to see a few more pictures

Comb Ridge

Comb Ridge - Post One, the Place

2007-09-05T15:53:00.001-07:00

I sat in a richly red cathedral, fire lapped the ceiling, stillness cloaked the walls in ethereal, unrelenting silence. This cathedral was last inhabited about 800 years ago and I now was only a visitor - an interloper. I left and gave the stillness to itself, and the sanctuary to those who made it their home and headed back down the wash.

Comb Ridge rises in the south-eastern desert of Utah. It is an immense monolithic, solid sandstone formation tilted at an angle of about 20 degrees running north/south about 80 miles (128 km) long (or longer, depending on the perspective), and about one mile (1.6 km) wide. Geologically speaking the Comb is a monocline — a great crack, a fold in the Earth's crust created by a slow slippage of deeply buried tectonic plates some 65 million years ago.

On the western side it drops vertically 800 to over 1,000 feet (245 to 300 m) to Comb Wash. On the eastern side it drops gently into Butler Wash. For the entire length, it is a slickrock playground, a geologic masterpiece, a natural history museum, and a archaeologist's dream. The dryness preserves the past as if time happened yesterday.

Both Butler Wash and Comb Wash flow into the San Juan River which cuts through Comb Ridge between Bluff and Mexican Hat. To the south the of the river the Navajo make their home; to the west lies the magnificent Monument Valley; to the north, the Abajo Mountains. The desert creeps up the washes and canyons, invading the mesas; shriveling the landscape, compelling the unprepared or uninitiated to stay on the far-flung roads. The heat and the dust and the miles and miles of sandstone bake the imagination.

Yet, there is water here. I found it everywhere; hidden in the creases, folded along the frozen and tiled dunes, sitting in cool huecos high on the ridge. The lost would die here, the wanderer would live wonderfully. The Anasazi, the Ancestral Puebloans not only wandered here, they lived here for thousands of years and their mark is still on the land. This is what I came to see and in this wash I found their hand prints on the walls, their kiva walls standing, and the places where they ground their corn and straightened their arrows. Here they grew squash, beans, and corn; hunted small game with finely woven nets, raised turkeys making intricate woven feather blankets, and painted beautiful pots, the shards of which make you long to see the original.

(more next post)

Fall

2007-08-26T14:17:00.000-07:00

I got up early Saturday morning and saw Orion and felt a deep melancholy darken the night. It was barely visible just coming up over the eastern horizon. The vision of him in the night sky may not mean much to some, but to me the great hunter signals fall and marks yet another year and the change of seasons.

Orion is a winter constellation, missing from the summer sky, but clearly visible when the frost lies deep. As the days become shorter and the cold becomes profound, the earlier it will rise. One of the best known and most recognizable star-patterns in the sky, Orion represents an heroic hunter of Greek myth.

Look for it if you're up early in late sumer. His belt is made of three very large white stars with two famous nebula, the Flame and Horsehead Nebula, located in the belt. In his sword one of the stars is actually the Orion Nebula - a cloud of gas and/or dust in interstellar space, but it is quite visible.

Orion also contains some of the best known stars in the sky, with perhaps the most famous being the variable red giant Betelgeuse, which marks Orion's left shoulder. Betelgeuse shines an amazing 60,000 times brighter than our sun and is about 600 times larger than our sun. You can see its redness with the naked eye. At his right shoulder is another variable star, this time blue in color, known as Bellatrix. At Orion's right foot is yet another famous star, blue like Bellatrix: the supergiant Rigel. These are the bluest and reddest stars in the sky.

Try to spot it - it is quite easy, and after several years you will look to the eastern sky and know time hurries on.

Flea Rex

2007-08-26T08:31:00.000-07:00

Ok! Everyone is clambering for pictures of the puppy so here he is. Just at 30 pounds now and full of it.

Day Eleven

2007-08-22T19:21:00.000-07:00

Sadly, all good things must come to an end.

We threw everything in the truck knowing we didn't need order throughout the day or for the next night. We traveled north toward Moose Junction, but before leaving we "said goodbye" to the herd of buffalo located in the Park. Bellowing breathy mist in the cool morning air they gave us an interested nod and bid us a safe trip. It was a fitting end to the trip - I relished seeing them free and unfettered, just as they once roamed. I enjoy them in a hamburger too!

We crossed the Continental Divide knowing it was the last time. I think we crossed it about 10 times, usually at about 7000 feet so it wasn't too eventful, but nevertheless we did get around. The total drive was about 1900 miles.

Headed south down the Chief Washakie Trail along east side of the Winds we quickly reached Lander. Chief Washakie was a close friend of Jim Bridger who, as with most Indians of that era, has a sad story.

Just south of Lander many of the historic trails are quite evident and the BLM has created a bit of a linear park. We stopped several times and crossed the Pony Express route, the Mormon trail, the Oregon trail and various cut-offs and notable formations. Split rock was among the more interesting. As the land rose toward South Pass and the nights grew colder it was a landmark that could be seen for days as one traveled east to west and deeper into the sage. A pony express station was later located there. In this picture you can see the historic trails heading out over the sage near the location of the station. The Sweetwater is just to the left - a major source of water in the high desert along this section of the route.

I found these sego lilies nearby still watered by the blood, and the sweat and the piss, and the tears of those who suffered in this desert and whose bones were bleached white, and now blow around in the dust. Sego is the Shoshone word for "edible bulb".

We drove back to civilization leaving the wild places to those that habit them and the history to those who still look.

(to read about the entire trip select Wyoming Trip from the list on the left and start at the bottom - hope you enjoyed....and tell me your thoughts...)

The Flower or the Bee

2007-08-16T10:12:00.000-07:00

There are some things thrust upon us, some we bring on ourselves, and some things tip us spinning and careening into chaos. We view them as bad, we view them as good; and yet, we do not know the end. Perhaps we should not be so quick to judge.

A farmer named Sei Weng owned a beautiful mare which was praised far and wide. One day this beautiful horse disappeared. The people of his village offered sympathy to Sei Weng for his great misfortune. Sei Weng said simply, "Who can say what is good or bad?"

A few days later the lost mare returned, followed by a beautiful wild stallion. The village congratulated Sei Weng for his good fortune. He said, "Who can say what is good or bad?"

Some time later, Sei Weng's only son, while breaking in the stallion, fell off and broke his leg. The village people once again expressed their sympathy at Sei Weng's misfortune. Sei Weng again said, "Who can say what is good or bad?"

Soon thereafter, war broke out and all the young men of the village except Sei Weng's lame son were drafted and were killed in battle. The village people were amazed as Sei Weng's good luck. His son was the only young man left alive in the village. But Sei Weng kept his same attitude: despite all the turmoil, gains and losses, he gave the same reply, "Who can say what is good or bad?"

The Shell Bead

2007-08-08T13:49:00.000-07:00

Beef Basin spread open like a book in the early morning light. The higher buttes lit up even more orange than usual, while the sage flats still retained a hint of inky blackness. A bit of chill still hung in the desert air. Numerous canyons feed onto the flats and choosing one to explore was as simple as following your feet. I had read that this place held promise for ruins and I was here searching for the Anasazi. After dinner, the night before, in the fading light I slowly walked around my campsite and began to find pottery shards; white with black woven designs, pinched, some colorless, and some quite large. I knew this place would indeed be special.

At just over 6000 feet this is high desert - the sun rays hot, boiling the summer and in winter the air bare and chilling. There was no one else here and no soul within at least 50 miles - maybe more. I was alone and I could experience this place through silence and solitude, much as those that lived did over 800 years ago. When the Anasazi last lived in these bright canyons Genghis Khan was marauding across the steppes of Mongolia, Europe was in the dark ages, and most men still lived not unlike the Anasazi, perhaps worse.

The Anasazi are not an ethnicity so much as a culture. We identify their building and their artifacts, but we know little about the people. Their disappearance during the 13th century is one of the great mysteries of American history and archeology. Their habitations go back for over 500 years and then vanish as they near the middle ages. There are many theories, but no agreement as to why.

One of the least understood facts for those who have not been to the Colorado Plateau is how expansive the ruins are. Everywhere I've been there are ruins. It is as if their civilization created a mighty extended city for hundreds and hundreds of miles. They seemingly lived everywhere and inhabited every corner. But, equally, one must understand that the Anasazi abandoned their settlements moving on to different lands; sometimes moving back into a place that had been left hundreds of years before, following the water and the desert shapes that tied them to their unknown mythology.

The Abajo mountains, to the south and east of Beef Basin, are the supposed location of some of the last remnants of the Anasazi. Whatever forced them to scatter brought them to this place. Where I was the canyon opens up into beef basin there is a small stream and a small ruin. It looks small and poorly built, but of extreme age. The streams in this country are mere dribbles appearing and disappearing - dependent upon the depth of the sand overlying the bedrock. This dribble ran into Beef Basin for about 50 yards and disappeared beneath the sage in a grassy green final breath.

One of the reasons I was here was to discover the water and how far I might wander in the future. Did the intermittent springs shown on the maps flow? How much country could I cover in one day? I knew how much I needed - about 3 liters during the day (or about 100 oz). The temperatures climbed to about 100 during the heat of the day with the ground temperatures being about 120. I wore a long-sleeved desert shirt, a wide brimmed hat and shorts and could climb and travel quickly throughout the greater part of the day mostly unaffected by the heat.

I believe my bones remember my youth. I was born into this world in the Mojave Desert and as a young boy played out in the heat in one of the hottest places in the continent. And, although I never fully connected the dots until recently, I have always loved the heat - a hot car, the full rays of the hot sun, or now; the baked quality of the desert at noon.

The canyon was neither deep nor wide, surrounded on each side by small, rough and broken sandstone cliffs varying between 20 and 60 feet capped by a gradually rising plateau on which grew pinion pine, juniper, and low-growing sage, but on which mostly plain, dry and cracked white clay soil lies giving way in places to swaths of loose sand. Sometimes, this upper plateau was capped by solid sandstone mounds, steeply sided, and devoid of vegetation, rising hundreds of feet above the pinion pine. The stream came and went in patches of green, life swirling around the nectar then ending in the dust and the heat.

What I had sought surprised me stopping me in my tracks, but it was far away and I was unsure of what I saw. I was accustomed to seeing cliff dwellings, but to see a tower rising out of the pinion was new to me. I raised my glasses and in excitement started in a run.

The canyon forked; the west side of the west fork was broken down, the cliff disappearing into a steep slope. At that place about 80 feet above the floor of the canyon stood an ancient tower. I approached, not up the obvious slope, but from small, deep "V" cut, directly to the north. I wanted to be secret, to surprise the stones, to walk up not as a tourist, but as a user.

The tower was not a single tower, but the tallest remaining tower left in a habitation of about 20 similar structures. What remained was about two stories tall and completely circular with a diameter of about 14 feet gradually decreasing in diameter going up at an angle of about 4 or 5 degrees. Each other structure was built against each other structure, not unlike mud dabber nests. To get into any one you had to travel through several low doorways. The construction was not tight and mortared, but well fit and loose. At one time the entire inside was plastered - small finger prints were visible still pressed into the dried mud; however, most of this covering had long since worn away. Two square structures occupied part of the small, flat area. I assumed them to be older, but partially rebuilt at some point.

I could see the Anasazi, baked by the sun, small of stature, rough-hewed, and smiling walking down to the intermittent stream, pot in hand - ducking out of the coolness of the narrow doorways, sitting on the same stone upon which I now sat. I saw what they saw. Looking up and down the canyon I wondered.

I spent some time in this quiet place and at last I squatted in the shadow of the tower collecting my pack and drinking in the coolness before I stepped back into the heat. I scanned the loose earth around me - shards here and there, juniper seeds - some black with age and some still deep purple. Something smooth, something different caught my eye, a glint of a brilliant white thin edge. I moved the dirt aside with my finger and a polished shell with a hole in the center came into view. It was about half the size of the tip of my small finger - 2 or 3 cm wide, tiny, thin, convex, and finely crafted. It was easy to see that is was once worn as part of a necklace. Perhaps with purple juniper berries and quills; perhaps with other beads and stones. I did not know, but it was lost over 800 years ago and now found its way into my hand!

I wondered if its end was violent, or accidental. Was it torn away or lovingly sought after? Did it represent love? Was its ending written in blood?

I was on BLM land and sites such as this are routinely robbed. I knew I had to take the bead, but I didn't know where. I put it in a tiny pocket on my upper sleeve seemly reserved for such small items. I carried it throughout what would become a magical day - a day the Anasazi mystified and delighted me - a day I walked in their shadow. My footprints that day, the smell, and the sun are driven into my memory; indelible and enduring, until I too go the way of the Anasazi.

Several days later I returned to Moab. Having been to the NPS HQ there to collect a permit for going into Salt Creek Canyon - a canyon full of cliff dwellings, I knew its location. I asked for the chief archaeologist and was soon shown into a small office with maps and file drawers scattered around the room. I showed her my treasure and she was quite surprised. I got a good scolding for removing the object, but I explained it wasn't located in the park, but in BLM land. She couldn't accept the treasure, but directed me to the BLM office.

Again, I found the Chief Archaeologist. This time, however, I did not get a cold greeting. She was thrilled I saved the bead and I gave her the exact coordinates of its final resting place. She carefully wrote down the information and copied my map. Before leaving I asked her to tell me what she knew about it.

She said it was a very special find because the bead was from an olivella shell. She explained, archaeologists often infer paths of past culture contact by sourcing artifacts. Marine shells have been used as indicators of culture contact across long distances. Modern geographical ranges of marine mollusks are virtually identical to the ranges that occurred in the recent past, and this allows archaeologists to determine the coast of origin of sea-shell artifacts recovered from inland sites. Unless there is evidence that the geographic range of an animal has changed, we can safely assume that current ranges are the same as those in the past. This shell was traded across the west from the coast of modern California! Rather all at once, or over time, no one can tell, but either way a fact not missed by the imagination. Goods were flowing back and forth across great distances 400 years before Europeans discovered the "new world" and I had held some of those goods and took it on perhaps its last journey.

I will go back to the Basin. I could spend an entire summer there, in the heat, wandering the canyons, climbing the cliffs, and searching for the soul of the past. The vastness and beauty filling my being with the unknown and the unknowable.

Day Ten - the Tetons

2007-08-05T07:49:00.000-07:00

Sadly, vacation was coming to a close, but we still had one good day in us. We wanted to get as far up into the Tetons as possible and a friend had recommended Death Canyon. Friend - Death Canyon? Well, there wasn't any death and the canyon was quite beautiful.

Thus far, Bridger had some fairly big walking days - into the 12 to 14 mile range, but this hike climbed steeply out of the plain defined by the Snake and into the teeth of some very rugged mountains. We weren't sure how far we would go.

We started out as early as possible vastly aided by the fact that we didn't have to pick up camp again. This was only the second time we stayed in one place for two nights. It was a short dive to the trailhead located at about 6,800 feet. Death Canyon is a classically carved, U-shaped, glacial valley ending in a lake (Phelps Lake) with a large lateral moraine on one side, most likely last formed during the Pinedale Glaciation. The moraine on the side of Phelps Lake must be descended on the way in and climbed up on the way out - an elevation of about 440 feet. A moose - deep in the brush and eating furiously, greeted us at the bottom of our descent. The trail was steep and rough ascending beside the newly melted snow crashing down the narrow valley. Spruce and fir grew scattered about mostly growing between exposed granite and the steeply sided meadows of low-growing shrubs and flowers. We were fortunate to see a female blue grouse with about 10 tiny chicks at close distance. Now, we had seen the entire of the family.

Eventually we reached a step in the upper valley; Alaska Basin, the stream slowed to a quick walk and the firs grew large. There we decided to go directly up the mountain to the pass high above. It was another 6 miles to the top of this valley on the existing trail and a 25 mile day might be too much for Bridger. This way, we could get him up high without so much walking, but it would be very steep walking.

The trial switch-backed up of the side of the north slope of the valley. We climbed for about 2 hours before reaching a small, lower saddle and then decided to try to reach a lesser peak located further up the trail. An easy climb lead to a snow covered saddle with the peak a short climb up a steep slope. A scramble up lead to Bridger's first summit -10,552. We returned - Bridger did about 17 miles with a climb of just about a mile.

Someday, perhaps we can take him up to the summit behind him in the photo - The Grand Teton.

Day Nine - Yellowstone

2007-08-03T19:35:00.000-07:00

Aside from Lake Titicaca, Yellowstone Lake, sitting at about 7,700 feet, is the largest high altitude lake in the world. It doesn't, however, have quite as good a name. We struck out early headed for Jackson Hole as we scooted through the Tetons too quickly the first time to get to Yellowstone. So, we had some unfinished business. It was then a driving day and Yellowstone Lake was the only thing we hadn't previously seen.

Aside from the usual few stops for some geothermal sites, a buffalo traffic jam, and a grizzly too far away to appreciate, it was a short drive to the Lake. One way to illustrate the size of the lake is that the Yellowstone River flows directly out of the lake as a very large, full blown, river. It's big, right away. Over geological time Yellowstone Lake has drained into the Pacific Ocean, the Arctic Ocean via Hudson Bay, but it now drains into the Atlantic via the Gulf of Mexico (via the Missouri and the Mississippi).The Lake is 20 miles long, 14 miles wide, and 320 feet deep at its deepest point averaging about 150 feet deep.

We left the lake and Yellowstone and drove toward Jackson.

Allow me a few reflections on Yellowstone. There is no doubt YNP is a special place - it is home to many "onlys" in the world, and even if some of the spectacles are located in other places, they are indeed rare. It is a unique and special place deserving of its reputation, but aside from the geothermal wonders and the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone the place is no different than any one of hundred places I've been. The landscape is not spectacular, actually rather plain. The Winds, for example , are magnificently beautiful. Consider this: you could drop YNP in many places in Wyoming and quite possibly find only a handful of people, if any - not a million, plus. That very fact draws me to the other places. But, and this is big - what does makes the landscape unique is the variety and number of wildlife. I wish the surprise and wonder of those animals existed in more places. The draw of the wildlife is clear - people discuss the animals, stop for the animals, and clearly adore each sighting.

I'm beginning to think we've done ourselves a disservice.

Day Eight - Yellowstone

2007-08-01T16:10:00.000-07:00

The first thing we did is head down to the Boiling River swimming hole for a dip; much of the intent being to get clean again, even if only for a little while. Wow, what a great swimming hole! A large boiling creek flows out next to the Yellowstone River then runs down into the cold water at various places along the bank. The boiling water is too hot to stand, but mixed with the cold water the overall experience is not unlike going from a sauna to snow and back again - it is awesome. We must have "swam" for an hour. Don't miss this if you're near North Yellowstone.

A quick breakfast and a walk around Mammoth Hot Springs finished out this area of Yellowstone. The main attraction at Mammoth Hot Springs is the terraces; however, we waited to see them until last. Heat, water, limestone, and rock fracture combine to create the terraces. Travertine is deposited as white rock, however the microorganisms and living bacteria create beautiful shades of oranges, pinks, yellows, greens, and browns. The Mammoth Hot springs are constantly changing. As formations grow, water is forced to flow in different directions creating a vast complex of tiers varying from white to dull gray. The Terraces, first described by the 1871 Hayden Survey (the same survey to stay at Steamboat Mountain - see day one), were given the name of White Mountain Hot Spring, even though they were well known and named before then. Obviously, the name didn't stick. The pictures aren't too great, but the overall effect and size of the terraces is really quite a sight. They cover a massive area just above town. By far, they are the largest in terms of size, in Yellowstone.

Our destination for the day was getting to the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone heading toward the east along the Yellowstone River. Once again, it was a race to see everything, yet still get a campsite. North Yellowstone is a bit more mountainous with large, open parks and less burned areas and few geothermal features. It actually reminded me of the Winds River Mountains a bit. On one pull off we saw a large petrified tree which was still standing, the usual bison, great flowers, and, finally, the big kahuna - a grizzly. But, this wasn't just a plain grizzly, this was a mother with two cubs. She was sleeping and the cubs were somewhat sluggish, but it was great to see. We would come back to the same meadow later in the afternoon for the big show, but for now on to the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone to get a camp site and see the area. We did get a camp site although the sign said the campground was full. Yellowstone Falls was close.

The Canyon is simply amazing and very unique. I haven't seen anything quite like it. We drove around and saw it from every vantage point and took every trail up and down. The pictures tell half the story, but it is one of those sites that must be experienced in person. There are actually two falls in the canyon: the upper falls falls just over 100 feet, but the lower falls over 300. It is beleived that Jim Bridger was the first to see the falls in 1846. The falls were named in 1869, and in 1871 the Hayden Party explored, photographed, and painted the falls. Moran was the artist and the painting of the falls and the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone is perhaps his most famous painting as it was shown to congress and helped establish the Park. The painting is quite faithful to the real thing - color being the most surprising. The reds and yellows are truly spectacular.

After we exhausted every vista in the area Tammi suggested we go see if the grizzly was still there. We did, and she was. What a treat. We watched her and the cubs for about two hours - nursing, playing, fighting, and goofing around while mother dug for roots. We spent most of the time next to a biologist who knew everything about bears. His wife did detailed studies on the elk populations and the effect the wolves were having. The grizzlies have been aided by wolf kills too as they are mostly scavengers. He pointed out where the bears winter, what they eat, how far they ranged, how old the cubs were, and a million other interesting things. How often do you get to watch grizzlies and cubs while having a personnel guide? It was like a nature program, but you were there. We were, by the way, very close. I could have hit them with a well thrown rock - that's close!

We finally left and headed back camp. Another terrific day - the Boiling River, Mammoth Hot Springs, grizzlies, and The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone.

Dichotomy

2007-07-30T09:23:00.000-07:00

I ran across this quote recently while rambling around blogesphere.

“I am trying to check my habits of seeing, to counter them for the sake of greater freshness. I am trying to be unfamiliar with what I am doing.” Robert Rauschenberg

I thought the statement fantastic on many levels. Those of you that know me, or read this blog know that I am interested in dichotomy. I see a lot of dichotomy in this statement. I didn't known of him, but Rauschenberg is an American artist noted for his collages, photomontages, and paintings that incorporate photographs and real objects. I found out, therefore, he was obviously speaking about the creative process. Some of you know exactly what the creative process is, but I think an explanation is in order. Or, perhaps an attempt. The culmination of a successful creative process the creation of an object (i.e. photograph, sculpture, etc...), or an event (i.e. play, movie, comedy, etc..) which people recognize as excellent. I'm not going to discuss what is art, or what is good art, but let us assume we know excellence when we see it. i.e. - I'm not talking about the stuff on the margins.

One of the obvious questions concerning excellence is, how is it attained? How is it manifest? How do people create this stuff? What might we understand about their process which we could bring to ours?

I would argue that most of what we recognize as excellent was intuitively created. People work years for this gift - artists in particular. I believe Danial Libekind's recent addition to Denver's skyline; the Denver Art Musuem, was originally quite literally sketched on scrap paper. That which is intuitive is prized. Malcolm Gladwell is enjoying the profits from a recent best seller called Blink (see my post, recent & recommended). It is about trusting and being guided by our intuitive selves. Zen is all about being so good at something we forget how we do it. It is best illustrated by driving. When we first start driving it takes concentration to keep the car between the lines. As years pass we forget it was ever a difficultly - it is natural, without thought, and completely without effort. There is still effort, but we are so good the effort is unnoticed. That's the zen of driving. That is the intuitive process illustrated. So is riding a bike, typing, clicking save, writing a good brief, changing a diaper - we forget what we're doing. We all know....the zone.

Rauschenberg is asking us to forget the zone - to look again, to be unfamiliar with that with which we are familiar. Blasphemy! But wait, what if we could look at that brief again, that response to a request for quote, the way we turn a bolt, run a saw, or even; dare I say, look at a spouse. Depending on the thing - Could we find freshness? Could we find imperfection? Could we find less (or more) in what we see so often.

In one of my poems, given below, I originally wrote the last line of the first stanza to read, "Of seeing, but not seeing natures cruel fight". I was after this same idea, this idea of seeing fresh. I later changed the line; it sounds better, but maybe....

There is something in me that loves the white
Of new soft snow, all quiet, No wing a flight.
I need this steady diet
Of stark straight trees against the gray light,
Of feeling, but not seeing natures cruel fight.

The cold it wanders lost throughout my bones.
Its feel, its life, its death doth hone
This single thought - That I am here alone,
And this, this is what I've sought.

© Artis Brazee

Longs Peak

2007-07-28T19:07:00.000-07:00

(Blog Note: the vacation posts have been once again interrupted for, well, another a small vacation - I'm still working on them though!)

Named after Major Stephen Long, who explored the area in the 1820's, Longs Peak rises to 14,259 feet (4,346 meters) above sea level. Ross (who is a very good friend of almost 30 years) and his wife Leigh, along with Tammi and I, set out to climb it at the end of a several day visit. (Ross and Leigh live in Green Bay at about 594 feet above sea level) It was a real pleasure to see them again and I'm very thankful they made the drive.

As with any fourteener, an early start is required. We got up at 2:30 and left at 3:00 arriving at the trailhead (9,400 feet) at 5:00. It was a little later than I had planned. Upon signing in at the trailhead, I counted 175 people signed in ahead of us that weekday morning . It is an incredibly popular climb. A recent article noted that, "In the summer of 2002, the latest year for which figures are available, an average of 300 people departed the Longs Peak trailhead on weekdays and 675 on weekends." The park service is working on the problem.

The route to the keyhole is a mostly easy trail that works its way up through the treeline from the east and then circumnavigates the mountain to the north. The keyhole lies on the north ridge. At the start, I tried to get us off quickly, as there is always a short adjustment period, but the elevation was too much. Ross and Leigh had been walking a lot in Wisconsin, but it just isn't the same - it was also Leigh's first "climb", and as such everything is unexpected and a little harder. It is a rocky, steep trail. Ross & I have climbed together hundreds of times, and indeed, we had tried to climb Longs on January first one year, but were quite literally blown off by a winter storm. It was the first time I have seen a mountaineering tent flattened by the wind - just like a pancake, ceiling on floor with Ross and I being the trimmings.

I can't resist a small historical note: The first known explorer to climb Longs was John Wesley Powell in 1868. The name-sake of Lake Powell - explorer of the Colorado River and much, much more. His fascinating life is portrayed in the book, "A River Running West: The Life of John Wesley Powell". It is a great read and a unique American life spanning from the civil war (were he lost his arm) to the establishment of the USGS (by Powell) to the halls of congress; who even at that time failed to do the right thing because of political chicanery and stupidity. Water rights being a low water mark.

I don't know the route Powell used and I don't believe there is a description, but he climbed it from the west (camped near modern Granby Lake - a reservoir build in the 40's for the front range. An area first explored by Jim Bridger who found nearby Berthoud Pass in July of 1861.) so I suspect he used the slabs on the last section of the regular route - the route we were using. But he did some amazing one-armed climbs along the Colorado River cliffs during his explorations, so based on that, he may have climbed something harder.

Once the trail ends, the boulder field begins. For those who have never been in the mountains, the boulder fields are almost beyond imagination. In this case, a picture is worth a thousand words. The small beehive building in the picture was built as a memorial and shelter in the 40's for a woman named Agnes and the man who died trying to save her. Once we made it to the keyhole I think Leigh was seriously considering turning around, but she continued on. It is always hard to judge if it is good to push someone or not. I know people always look back and seldom regret having been pushed, but if someone is really tired pushing them can be dangerous too. There is never a right answer and I never know which way to go, but on she went.

I must say the route along the back of the mountain is stressful to the novice. There is some big exposure, which in, and of it self, can fatigue the body. Being tense is a main ingredient in the recipe of, "I'm wasted, let's go back". The route traverses the steep west flank of the mountain for about half-a-mile. It is relatively safe, but exposed, rough, and scary to those unaccustomed to height. Once across, the route goes up a broken down and rock strewn coulier. It is steep, nasty, and loose; and about 1000 feet tall ending in a narrow rock ledge that traverses the south face. The ledge is sometimes about 4 feet wide and isn't for those afraid of heights, to put it mildly. By this time Leigh had pushed herself beyond that for which she was capable, and we still had to return to the car! So, we turned around about 300 feet from the summit with weather threatening. It was about 11:00. She should be very proud of both her preparation and the outcome. Maybe some other year. I feel our late start attributed to the lateness of the morning too and that was my fault.

The return to the keyhole is no easier than the trip in and I know everyone was relieved to finally hit a trail. We booked down the trail at a good clip arriving at the car after 11 hours of hiking and climbing. We motored to Boulder and ate like little piggies with Ross buying dinner for all. I hope fun was had by all. For me, the weather, the company, the views, and the flowers were impeccable.

longs peak

What's Bloom'in - Summer

2007-07-22T07:15:00.000-07:00

Ah, it seems summer goes so fast - the spring flowers were just coming up. Now, in midsummer, the garden gets a little crazy. The big bloomers are large and everyone is fighting for space. Every year the garden looks a little different and one flower seems to win "most in field". This year there are a quite a few Mexican Hat (Ratibida columnaris). These flowers are long-lasting and provide good color. They bloom in yellow or rust and sometimes a combination of the two. As a xeriscape flower, they provide a good, long-lasting bloom with little water and come back year after year.

Gaillardia pulchella commonly called Gaillarida or sometimes Indian Blanket, Blanket Flower, or Firewheel is one of the easiest and showiest of the xeriscape flowers - I highly recommend it for its color and long bloom. Indian Blanket Flower, the state wildflower of Oklahoma, is an impressive and beautiful native flower found growing along roadsides, in fields and pastures, sometimes covering large areas. Galardia pulchella seems to thrive in heat and is native from Colorado and New Mexico east to Minnesota, Nebraska, Kansas, and Louisiana and it is really putting on a show in the garden.

Wild sunflowers (Helianthus maximiliani) grow around here in profusion and as such are shunned from the garden, but I let a few come up every year. The wild variety is small with many flowers, not much like their domesticated cousins. I enjoy them very much, so do the Goldfinches. They roost on the branches and eat the flowers. We had a Goldfinch nest in our yard this year and they produced a couple of young.

In addition, the Russian sage (Perovskia) is in full bloom; its deep purple set off nicely by all of the yellow. At about three foot tall it is a garden staple and a long bloomer to boot. Russian Sage is classified as a sub shrub or woody perennial. It performs very well in full sun and any well-drained soil. Average to dry moisture levels are ideal, and few pests bother this plant. If pruning is necessary, do so in spring when new growth appears. Prune back to just above the lowest bud.

Although,yarrow (Achillea millefolium) is not really a prairie plant, I planted it anyway. It likes the heat, does well with the dry conditions and is very showy - especially with purples. I like its rusty yellow color and it too, is a long bloomer. The flowers are very quite large and are wonderful for cutting and drying although I usually end up leaving them in the garden. Deadhead the flowers for re-bloom and cut back to the basil leaf after bloom has finished. This flower was once used to flavor beer and has quite a few medical uses, but I have it for its color and longevity.

Day Seven - Yellowstone

2007-07-21T10:06:00.000-07:00

We got up fairly early and drove north to Mammoth only stopping a few times. We had already explored much of the road north anyway. We got a campsite close to town at the NPS area and went back in town for breakfast. What a great little town. Mammoth was really the first facility in YNP and has a long and interesting history. The town was first an early army facility and clearly shows those roots. It was, in fact, the first facility in YNP - first called Fort Yellowstone.

For the decade after 1872 when Yellowstone National Park was established, the park was under serious threat from those who would exploit, rather than protect, its resources. Poachers killed animals. Souvenir hunters broke large pieces off the geysers and hot springs. Developers set up camps for tourists, along with bath and laundry facilities at hot springs. Civilian superintendents were hired to preserve and protect this land from 1872 through 1886. The good intentions of these early administrators, however, were no match for their lack of experience, funds and manpower. Word got back to Congress that the park was in trouble and legislators refused to appropriate any funds for the park's administration in 1886.

The Army came to the rescue and in 1886 men from Company M, First United States Cavalry, Fort Custer, Montana Territory under Captain Moses Harris came to Yellowstone to begin what would be more than 30 years of military presence in Yellowstone.The first buildings of Fort Yellowstone were finished by late 1891. As more troops were needed, more buildings were constructed: officers' quarters, guard house, headquarters, barracks for enlisted men, stables for their horses and non-commissioned officers' quarters. In 1909, Scottish masons began constructing sandstone buildings here - among them the Albright Visitor Center (then the Bachelor Officers' Quarters) and the administration building (then a two-troop barracks for 200 men). The Chapel, the final building constructed during the Army's tenure, was also constructed of native sandstone. The stone from these buildings was obtained from a local quarry between the Gardner River and the Mammoth Campground.

The Army did much more than provide a police service. They built roads which still exist today and those roads are the first roads in the country build to a specification. The square building was the engineer's office.

The town is a nice little place, but we were keen on a hike . On the way there we saw a small brown bear. Still looking for the big grizzly! There was a trail leading to Albright Peak close to town so we set out for that. It was a hot day and a somewhat long hike, but we had a good time. One of the highlights of the day was running into a male blue grouse in a bit a mood to show off. He put on an awesome show and we frequently got within several feet of him to see it. Check out the pics on this guy in the slide show. He has these orange-yellow eye patches that make him look angry all the time - they have issues.

We also found a nice set of elk antlers. Their size on Bridger quickly illustrates the actual size of an elk. This is a big set.

Other than that it was a fairly uneventful hike. We finished and drove out of the park a short distance to Gardiner seeing another ungulate to add to the list - mountain sheep. (actually, Bridger did keep a running list of all the animals we saw - it became quite a list) It is one of the roughest towns I've ever seen, but we had good pizza. On the way back we spied a swimming hole/hot spring which we intended to hit up first thing in the morning. I must mention the massive north gate. It's quite a structure and a very large stone embedded in the top states, "FOR THE BENEFIT AND ENJOYMENT OF THE PEOPLE", and we were!

Day Six

2007-07-15T20:37:00.000-07:00

Well, after six days we're still showerless and heading into town! I'm sure the locals will love us. We got up early to drive to West Yellowstone (outside the park) to meet Astrid. On the way we saw a eagle sitting beside the Madison River. She had a nest nearby which looked like it had one chick which was rather large. The western part of Yellowstone is a bit drier and it begins to level out with the Madison flowing directly west. It however, doesn't flow into the Pacific. It is part of the headwaters of the Missouri which defines almost all of Montana and is the central and primary river basin.

We arrived early in West Yellowstone and called Astrid. We hadn't had any service most of the vacation and it was the first call. Well, long story short, Astrid was still in Missoula and will forever be known as squirrel girl. We were very sad not to see her. We did the most important thing first and found a coffee shop. Then saw a bit of the town, ate breakfast, had enough of civilization, and headed back to Yellowstone. We had found out through a friend about a swimming hole in the Firehole River and we headed for that. We knew it would be cold, but we stank enough for it not to matter. It was cold, but it was invigorating. I convinced Tammi to swim and of course Bridger was all over it. We were clean!

We changed and headed back toward Old Faithful stopping at Fountain Flats - a basin off maybe 1200 acres. (a calculation on satellite photos came up with the entire basin being 1543 acres) We decided on a hike around the area and headed out. Crossing the Fire Hole River by bridge we came across a huge buffalo herd which I believed to be about 500, perhaps as many as 1000 - it was hard to tell. The meadow itself stretched more than five miles long and a couple of miles wide and was surround by high volcanic cliffs on three sides. The buffalo herd surrounded the trail and covered the meadow. Most of the herd were napping and we actually walked through the mist of the seething mass. There were other people on the trail (actually an old road) and the beasts seemed quite ambivalent about our presence, but it was the heat of the day and the big boys were mostly bedded down - none were closer than about 20 yards. A few might have been closer, but we quickly passed. What an amazing thing to be in the center of a massive herd of bison. We were charmed and somewhat terrorized at the same time. I wish I could accurately describe it. Little did we know it would get plumb scary later.

We continued to walk and soon passed Goose Lake. At the far end an eagle sat on a dead tree having just finished a fish. We stopped and watched a while, but he refused to do anything exciting beside look regal so we moved on. We wanted to see Fairy Falls and headed in that direction. I hate to say it, but if you've seen Niagara Falls and Yosemite Falls everything else is somewhat anticlimactic. There were some hot springs noted on the map so I wanted to head that direction. There was no trail so off we went. Wow, what a treat. We found a very active geyser (Imperial Geyser) which went off every 45 seconds for about 20 or 30 seconds. It was very voluminous, tremendously loud - simply stunning. A deep, boiling pool of blue surrounded the geyser with several mud pots scattered around the perimeter. The frequency of the eruptions keep us there for quite some time and the best part - no walkways!

There was another nearby geyser (Spray Geyser) which was quite small, but boiled up in a constant osculating eruption. We decided not to return via the trail, but to follow the large meadow around on the south side. We came across the remains of two buffalo and one elk very graphically illustrating the importance of the bison in the food chain. It is hard to believe, but the wolves are able to take down the huge beasts, thus providing food for bears and lesser scavengers. The kills were old and we could not determine how the animals may have died, but the bones were stripped clean and white.

I have often heard the claim that bison are easier on the land than cows; therefore, it was very interesting to see the meadow as used by the bison. The herd seems somewhat pinned by the surrounding area and I suspect they seldom move, but I don't know this. Having grown up playing in the same fields with cows I am intimately familiar with what the fields "look like", and I found little difference between the two. The bison's hoof is somewhat smaller, but that also means they exert more weight in a smaller area. Some bison pies appear exactly as do cows, but some are much more consolidated, thus not killing the vegetation they cover. I suppose I would call it about half-and -half. As for grazing, it is about the same. The bison wander slowly forward, just as cows, leaving behind a similarly grazed area. The appearance, overall health, and general state of the meadow seemed to me, about the same. Of course, this isn't scientific, but I expect most of the claims are visual also and result more from an agenda than from fact.

Thus far, we had covered about 10 miles with about 2 miles back to the truck. It was getting on toward evening, the heat was abating, and we could see across the meadow that the herd was on the move and we aimed to miss them. I didn't want to be stuck in open meadow with something more than 10 times larger than me on our tails. The problem was we had to cross the bridge Firehole River so we were somewhat roped into a specific area. The bulk of the herd was located mostly toward the south and heading somewhat north. Being on the south of the meadow we crossed about a half-mile directly across the meadow so we could skirt them on the north and reach the bridge. There were a few trees there too and it seemed a bit safer. Once we got to where we needed to be the leading edge of the herd was pushing us away from the bridge. It was all we could do to make some progress in the right direction and still keep some reasonable space. And, wouldn't you know right in the middle of the chaos we ran across the most awesome bird I have ever seen - a pterodactyl. Well, it wasn't really, but it was huge - taller than Bridger, taller than the bison! It was a pair of sand hill cranes with two chicks. These birds have a wing span of almost 8 feet and they were giving the herd heck for being too close to the chicks. We so wanted to stop and take pictures, but the bison were moving fast, the cranes were stirring up the lead animals, and we were booking across the grass.

We found a break in herd and hightailed it for the bridge only to find ourselves surrounded and cut off with no way out but to make for the bridge through the herd. I, to this point, hadn't been too uncomfortable with the distance, but there were about 20 or so bison spread out nearby, of which about half-a-dozen were close to the trail. I grabbed Bridger's hand and foreword we went! I could have hawked a good loogie on any one of those six. One gave us the evil eye and a low grunt. That is, without a doubt, as close as I ever want to get to a volkswagon with legs and sharp horns.

We drove back to camp, ate dinner, and went to bed. It was a great day - perhaps the best so far.

Day Five

2007-07-14T17:46:00.000-07:00

One of the great things about camping is moving on everyday, but one of the bad is packing all the junk everyday. Today, no packing - we stay here for three days! So, up and out early heading north toward Manmoth. We didn't really have a day planed per say, but we did have some ideas. We weren't sure what we would find along the road - that usually, as we have found, fills up quite a bit of the day.

As always, and as we expected, there were the usual selection of hot springs, geysers, and thermal whatnots to explore, but we wanted something a bit more interesting and hands on. I saw some indications of some off-trail hot springs on the map and we wanted a bit of a hike so we headed to the Solfatera trail. We filled up on water and some food and strapped on the most important Yellowstone trail item - pepper spray. But, this isn't your grandma's pepper spray (that is, if she's a runner or habits biker bars). This is like a small fire extinguisher, shoots 30 feet and lasts seven seconds. It's industrial. This would put your average mugger into the ICU - it's made for bears; angry bears; big, angry grizzly bears with an attitude. If you have the presence of mind to use it, and use it right, it works quite well. I have a secret desire to use it, but only if everything is perfect; i.e. I see the bear coming, there isn't any wind, the bear has just eaten and simply can't hold another bite.

We walked about a half-a-mile and had our first "encounter". We came around the corner and smack in the middle of the trail was (no, not a bear) a very large bison of unusual size giving us the evil eye. You simply can't appreciate the size of a buffalo until you look them square in the eye with nothing between you and the tip of their horn. In takes very little imagination to imagine just where they might put it should they desire. We beat a healthy retreat, give the beast some space, and took some higher ground. We noticed that many of the big males tend to hang out, alone, away from the heard in these lush meadows.

Buffalo weigh about 2000 pounds, run about 30 MPH, and don't like strangers very much. It is estimated that in the mid-19th century there were up to 100 million wondering about. Everyone knows their sad story. Seeing them, wild, unfenced, and natural, was for me, the highlight of the trip. It took me back closer to the time of Bridger, Colter, and the mountain man. It made imagining unnecessary and actually put it to shame. Their massive bulk, the smell rising up, the sound of their breath and the depth of their groans put you squarely in the realm of the wild.

We walked a bit and smelled sulfur and soon the springs came into view. There was one other car at the trail head and we found three people it belonged to. They had gear spread out and it turns out a molecular biologist was collecting samples of the thermophiles in the boiling water.

It was fantastic to be able to walk around freely. All of the areas we visited thus far had wooden sidewalks and signs which keep the thermal areas pristine due to the volume of people visiting. The approach has worked well and the geysers and thermals were, it seemed, just as they would be if no one saw them, but this area didn't have visitors in any volume.

Prior to 1967 it was thought the highest temperature where photosynthesis was deemed likely and bacteria could exist was thought to be about 160 degrees F. At temperatures higher than this, it was a known fact that enzymes were destroyed. Boiling was considered a sure way to kill bacteria.

Imagine the surprise of researcher Dr. Thomas Brock when he discovered in 1967 a bacterium that lived at 176 degrees F in the Mushroom Pool of Yellowstone National Park. Dr. Brock's discovery opened up a new era in biology, which has resulted in the recognition of a third kingdom of life, Archea.This discovery also began the search for other organisms that might exist outside of our previously recognized limits, both on Earth and on other planets. Our understanding of the ability of life to prosper in a variety of environments has been vastly expanded, while our definition of "hostile environment" is shrinking. We now realize that there are organisms that "eat" sulfur, live kilometers beneath the surface in rocks, or even live near high-pressure, high-temperature, deep-sea volcanic vents. The possibilities for life now seem without bound. It all started in Yellowstone and these researchers were continuing the work. These extreme life forms color the water all kinds of crazy colors. Sometimes, where two different temperature streams meet one half will be green and the other half yellow until the temperatures combine to make a third color.

Dr. Brock placed a sample of the first bacterium that he discovered, Thermus aquaticus, in the American Type Culture Collection, where it became available to anyone wishing to study it. Later, in the 80s, a scientist working for Cetus Corporation used a sample of this species to develop a process that uses the high temperature stability of the enzymes in this heat-loving organism to perform polymerization of DNA in large quantities. This highly successful process is invaluable to modern medicine. Revenues from the patenting of this process have topped $500 million a year, but the tragedy is that none of this money has been funneled back to Yellowstone National Park.

In 1997, Diversa Corporation entered into a five-year agreement with the Park to collect samples of thermophilic organisms for a stated sum of money and a royalty on any patents issued as a result of their research. The organisms themselves were to remain part of the public domain but now the Park System would be able to benefit from the "intellectual property" obtained from research on these organisms. While cooperative research and development of a public resource was considered a controversial move, the agreement held up to legal challenges. As of April 2000, the Park is able to benefit financially from research on this bio-resource.

As we walked into the area devoid of vegetation (due to high ground temperature), Eagle-Eyed-Tammi spotted a large bear print. Because of the size, we thought grizzly. If you look closely you can see the bear had a cub whose print appears sideways in its mother's print. We spent about two or three hours carefully exploring the area. It's really amazing to bend down and feel the heat of the earth. The ground is so hot sitting lasts about 10 seconds and the steam vents burns instantly. The boiling water is, well boiling. We saw mud pots and little geysers, boiling streams, and all manner of thermal activity on a small scale. The small scale made it very accessible and close - it was unparalleled. The yellow crystals are what the inside of a steam vent looks like.

We hiked back to a small lake, circled around and headed back to the car. That had taken most of the day so we headed back to camp. We wanted an early start the next day as we were going to drive out of the park to meet a friend; Astrid, who was coming from Missoula down to meet us.

Kind of neat!

2007-07-12T13:23:00.000-07:00

One of my interests is astronomy and perhaps this might get you interested. Some cosmologists need help to classify galaxies and you can sign up and help on the web. There are something like a couple of million to classify and I guess they got a bit tired of it. Many hands make light work. Basically, you will be the first person seeing about 100% of what you see and categorize.

Apparently, the human brain is much better at recognizing patterns than a computer. Here is a shot of several of the ones that came up on my screen. You are seeing them for the first time (well...second time). The first is a spiral clockwise galaxy. I have no clue where. See my post on the milky way for some perspective on just how big things really are. Imagine several million Milky Ways...no, not the candy bar - our galaxy.

Here's the site.

Better?......perhaps!

2007-07-11T09:19:00.000-07:00

I know, I'm an inconsistent poster. I know some of you like the blog, but don't know when I post, etc..etc...

I found a better way. There is a new tool on the site which will send you an email only when I post something new. Try it, let me know if it doesn't work - I can never tell if HTML is correct. Hopefully this will be better than checking the site and being crushed by the fact that there is nothing new!

The little widget seems to be easy - you have to register and confirm with an email reply.

Puppy - The One!

2007-07-04T17:58:00.000-07:00

Well, the puppy is picked. We brought him home on Sunday. He's "stop you dead in your tracks" cute. Now, the name.....

We had been thinking about names for quite a while. A Google search proved helpful, but as usual there were just too many choices. We wrote down quite a few, but we wanted the name to match the little booger. Chewbacca was a contender, but didn't make the final cut.

Once home Bridger settled on Strider; the name of the Ranger in the Lord of the Rings who eventually became King of Gondor. Bridger desperately wanted Tintin; as in Tintin and Snowy by Herge. He has been reading those a lot, but he didn't know about Rin Tin Tin and the fact that it was a common dog name. We kept forgetting Strider and calling him Shredder, but Bridger didn't like that name very much.

Somehow, after a day or s0 we came up with Colter and it stuck. (I swear I didn't plan it) Bridger liked it - he said now Bridger and Colter are together again. So, now the little chewing rogue has a name, which by the way, he seems to have gotten used to it already.

The pictures tell it all... I've got to go and clean up an "accident".

Day Four

2007-07-04T16:05:00.000-07:00

We got up early in Colter Bay at Jackson Lake in the Tetons to head for Yellowstone. We didn't have grand plan, but we did know that camping spaces were often limited. We also had to be in West Yellowstone to meet a friend at a certain time so we wanted to head that direction to ensure we had a camping spot. Our usual "camp anywhere" approach doesn't work in Yellowstone. The drive up somewhat follows the Snake River whose headwaters are located in Yellowstone. It eventually becomes the main tributary for the mighty Columbia River and then flows into the Pacific. The lower Snake was first explored by Lewis and Clark and was first known as the Lewis River. Most likely Colter was the first to explore the upper Snake and the road would have roughly followed his route - at least in Yellowstone Park.

The southern entrance road is heavily forested with lodgepole and is not particularity scenic. We crossed the Continental divide three times at about 8000 feet (now eight times total) and dropped down into Old Faithful. It is, or course, a must see, but because of the number of visitors everything is "sterile", and there are people everywhere. Old Faithful was awesome and we enjoyed the surrounding geysers and springs, but I must say we enjoyed the back-country hydrothermal features a lot more.

Ok, now it's time for your geology lesson. In order to really appreciate, see, and understand Yellowstone it is necessary to understand the geology. The most striking, and obvious aspect of Yellowstone is the relative nearness of magma to the surface. Yellowstone is located in an active Caldera - yes, I meant to say active. That is, of course, in geologic time. Parts of Yellowstone have risen more than three feet in recent years due to the magma chamber located under Yellowstone rising. Of course, the theories as to why and how are all simply conjecture, but the end result is undeniable. The past, also undeniable, and is etched around most of the lower 48. What is located under Yellowstone is called a "hot spot". Such hot spots are located around the globe and include places like Hawaii, the Galapagos, and Iceland. The volcanic activity has nothing to do with plate tectonics - they are simply places where earths crust is "thin". These hot spots "move", or at least the crust moves in relation to the hot spot, and the Yellowstone hot spot has moved also. This is referred to as a hotspot track. The old calderas can be located on a west-south-west line stretching across the western US.

You may have noticed that I referred to the Yellowstone Caldera affecting most of the lower 48. Some of the older eruptions may have snuffed out most life in the entire US with an order of magnitude somewhere around 2000 to 3000 times that of Mt. Saint Helens. Ash was deposited many feet deep for thousands of miles. What wasn't wiped out by the initial event was killed by a "volcanic winter". The most recent, the Lava Creek eruption, occurred about 640,000 years ago and deposited tuff now about 1000 foot deep locally. (Tuff is consolidated ash with all kinds of volcanic material mixed in)

The complete picture of the volcanism is complicated and beyond even what I want to read about, but this quick outline should give you some idea about this supervolcano. It is not completely understood and is still studied extensively, but the point is that it is massive - wipe out the entire US in a heart beat massive.

The next interesting thing to know about Yellowstone geologically is the two most recent glacial periods and the effect on the topography. Perhaps it is first best to know what these glaciers were not. They were not alpine (or piedmont) glaciers and they were not continental glaciers. They were ice caps similar to modern day Greenland. Again, the scale exceeds our ability to readily imagine the size. The Pinedale Period (the most recent) wasn't that long ago (about 25,000 years at its peak), so the marks are still very clear on the landscape. Although there were many glacial periods we can only really see the last two - the Pinedale and Bull Lake. They are similar, but the Pinedale partially obliterated the Bull, so I will discuss the Pinedale Period.

If you went back to the peak of the Pinedale Period and stood on the Grand Teton you would see the terminus of the ice cap that covered Yellowstone. The entire valley would be covered by glacial till (rocks and silt), glacial melt would be cascading off and thundering from under the ice and immediately creating a river much larger than the Snake is now. The mountains of gray silt and the bolder fields would almost be uncrossable. Descending and walking north you would be walking on only the glacier - quite steeply at first, then almost flat. Standing in the center of Yellowstone you would have about 4000 feet of ice below your feet. The only visible land would be the Absarokas to the north. You would have to walk several more days back down the glacier north to escape the ice, and you would have traversed about 120 miles. The ice cap was enormous and all of the features it left are easy to see today - eskers, kames, terminal and lateral moraines, glacial striations, drumlins, erratics, and many other things.

There is one place in Yellowstone Canyon that has one of the best geologic views I have ever seen. As you look across the river cut (almost a slice) the far side has glacial till many feet deep on the top. Immediately below that is about 60 feet of basalt that formed in hexagonal columns. These are always neat just by themselves. These dark columns lie directly upon another layer of glacial till - really round stones of about equal sizes surrounded by glacial flour. The layers mark a period of glaciation, a period of volcanic activity, and another period of glaciation.

Back to the trip. We drove west, toward the west entrance, stopping at every pullout to check out the geysers, springs, and thermals. They are really awesome, and we took about 100 pictures. We camped at Madison Junction walking around the meadows and checking out the buffalo before turning in. We were to stay here three days so we set up the tarp, cuts lots of wood, set up an extra tent, and generally made ourselves more home than usual.

Break in Vacation posts for, well... Vacation

2007-07-03T11:34:00.000-07:00

This intermediate post interrupts the regularly scheduled vacation post for several reasons. One, we were on vacation in Crested Butte and secondly we picked up the puppy on the way home. I just didn't have enough time to post about vacation while on vacation and there was lots of fun and of course, the puppy is big news.

First Crested Butte, as always the place was terrific. We had a good time hanging out with some of the family. Tammi and I got to ride Trail 401 (pictured here), the most celebrated mountain bike trail in Colorado. There might be better trails, but not many - this is the creme da la creme; simply as good as it gets. We did 29 miles door to door and we were trashed. We haven't gotten out as much as we would like.

Crested Butte is a great town and we did a lot of hanging out. There was a mountain bike fest and all the craziness surrounding such an event. A big black bear walked by the deck one morning - the kids loved that. I think Traci and Owen really liked the trip down too. An accident closed the highway forcing a detour on their return home so they see Cottonwood Pass, Schofield Pass, Paradise Pass, Hoosier Pass, and Loveland Pass - it was an all day detour!

I also got in a fair amount of climbing with Owen, my brother-in-law; who I met Tammi through. We used to climb together a lot, so it was great to be roped up with him again. I hope we can do it some more. We ended up climbing the Bastille in El Dorado Canyon yesterday - felt like old times. It is a old school 5.7 put up by Layton Kor in the 70's. The Bastille is shown at the right and is just what you might expect - a large prow, and here's a picture of the crack. The first three pitches are a real joy. It is the most famous of the climbs in El Dorado.

Anyway, we had a great time with Owen and Traci and kids. I'll post about the puppy in a separate post.

Day Three

2007-06-27T17:00:00.000-07:00

Day three started in the morning shadow of the Winds. We skipped breakfast at camp and headed into Pinedale for some coffee. We found the only internet coffee shop and spent a couple of hours fueling up on caffeine, checked email, and chilled. It was to be mainly a travel day so we drove north toward Jackson, off the "rim", and through the hoback. We wanted to explore Jackson a bit, and act a bit civilized, but we still didn't have a shower. So, we opted for a tour of the art dealers, a few shops, and lunch at a Nepalese outdoor spot. The owner introduced himself and his last name was Sherpa. I ask if he was related to Tenzing Norgay Sherpa and Tenzing was indeed his cousin. He was friends with Jamling Tenzing Norgay, the author of Touching My Father's Soul; Tenzing's son, who climbed Everest in 1996 with a team lead by David Breashears that also included mountaineer Ed Viesturs. (I recommend this book to anyone interested in mountaineering) I met Jamling in 1997 and keep his signed summit picture in my office. Jamling also summited with Peter Hillary, thus repeating the famous duo (through each son) of 1953. Of even more interest is that the owner's Grandfather was the lead Sherpa for Mallory. Mallory famously quipped when asked why climb Everest, "Because it's there" Mallory died on Everest and it was never known if he made it to the top. The successful search for his body and the the events surrounding his 1924 expedition are told in The Lost Explorer - Finding Mallory on Mount Everest ; an even better book. Whether he made it to the summit is subject to debate, but Sir Edmond Hillary said it best, "If you climb a mountain for the first time and die on the descent, is it really a complete first ascent of the mountain? I am rather inclined to think personally that maybe it is quite important, the getting down, and the complete climb of a mountain is reaching the summit and getting safely to the bottom again."

We left Jackson in a hurry to get to Yellowstone. On the way we stopped because Tammi spotted two wolves. We watch them for quite some time while they were playing and goofing around. We later found out that there was indeed a pack in the area. I hadn't planned on it, but we stayed in Colter Bay Campground. (See previous post) We waded in the lake, got hailed on, and saw a really great museum with Indian artifacts. I must say I have never seen its equal - it was quite a surprise.

Day Two

2007-06-26T11:08:00.000-07:00

The day started early in our little green glen in the Red Desert. In 1877 the Hayden Expedition passed through this area, noting Steamboat Mountain's aspen grove and clear, flowing springs and they seemed ever the same as 140 years ago. Upon packing the car we headed south off of Steamboat Mountain and directly west over the divide yet again. This was the 4th crossing. We were headed to the largest of the dunes; Killpecker Sand Dunes, so Bridger could see them.

On the way we were surprised by a few of the resident elk. These elk are not the same herd that was noted by hunters back in the nineteenth century. Settlement and hunting wiped out most of those animals by the 1940s, when the Wyoming Game and Fish Department transplanted 86 elk from the Jackson area to the vicinity of Boar's Tusk and the Killpecker dunes. Wildlife managers hoped the elk would migrate back and forth from the Jackson area, as they had historically, which would reduce the necessity for feeding them through the winter at the National Elk Refuge, but they stayed on and are now part of the landscape. Some additional elk do migrate down from the southern end of the Winds to winter on the high plains near Oregon Buttes - we camped there on our last trip up to Pinedale. The Oregon Buttes retain the name given to them by the passing settlers bound for Oregon and California, but the trail itself is off some distance to the north.

Killpecker dunes move during the winter covering up drifting snow blown by the howling winds thus creating a natural refrigerator which releases moisture during the summer creating little ponds around the bottom of the dunes. Dune beetles and various rodent tracks suggest quite an active ecosystem. I'm sure larger predators inhabit the night as the desert is home to many unique species. We played on the dunes for about an hour and headed toward the boars tusk.

The boars tusk is a volcanic neck; a remnant of a volcano that erupted, slowed, plugged itself up, and then eroded so that all that remains is just the central tube. While we explored the cone made of tuff and basalt the resident hawks scolded us for approaching their lofty home. This desert is home to the highest raptor densities in the country. I had hoped to find some petroglyphs located nearby on White Mountain, but we were unsuccessful. Now, off north to Names Rock via the Oregon Trail and the Green River.

Bridger, as most everyone knows, is named for Jim Bridger, one of the most famous trappers and explorers of the early west. There is quite a bit around Wyoming named in honor of him. The largest being Bridger-Teton National Forest. He traipsed around these parts quite a bit and he signed his name in rock near modern day Labarge. I wanted Bridger to see it. We headed west across the high desert and met up with the Oregon Trail. As a matter of fact, Jim Bridger is credited with establishing the Wyoming section trail for the Mormons. We passed by the spot near the Little Sandy that, in 1847, Jim Bridger met Brigham Young to discuss the route to Salt Lake. Bridger, according to legend, offered $1000 for the first bushel of corn grown in Salt Lake as he discouraged the entire venture.

The book "Wagons West", by Frank McLynn, paints the clearest picture of the struggle these early settlers faced. Manifest Destiny pushed these men and woman to great extremes and it can be appreciated no better than while standing in the very tracks of the wagons, feeling the heat, smelling the sage, and feeling the wind blow from the far away buttes days and days away. The push into the unknown was an extreme act and the price was suffering, suffering, and more suffering. This picture is near modern day Farson, some distance before crossing the Green very near Simpson's Hollow where, in 1857 the Mormons burned 52 Army supply wagons to keep them from reaching Salt Lake. The plan was successful and the Army never reached the settlement - a peaceful solution was found.

On the way to Names Rock we stopped along side the Green flowing through the high desert. There are many fossils located in this area, but we simply didn't have time to stop and throughly explore the area, which of course being Wyoming is rather large. I think we were about 80 miles from the Boars Tusk. There is a large wild life refuge located around this area and between that the water there are a lot of animals. We continued on the Names Rock and then on to Pinedale. Our first stop was the Mountain Man Museum; quite a little gem, dedicated to the mountain man and the early west. Jim Bridger's rifle is here and Bridger really wanted to see that. We bummed around town, looked up an old Friend, and ate out at Fremont Lake. Fremont Lake is the second largest lake in Wyoming as well as one of the deepest lakes (600 feet) in the United States. Pleistocene glaciers of the Bull Lake and Pindale glacial periods carved out the valleys in this area and deposited terminal moraines that dammed the mountain waters. Fremont, New Fork, Half Moon, Boulder, and Willow Lakes all formed in such a manner. The massive glacial moraines surrounding Fremont Lake are classic examples of moraines formed by alpine glaciation. This moraine is visible in the right hand side of this picture of the lake. I will write about the Bull Lake and Pinedale glacial periods when we visit Yellowstone.

We spent the night at Soda Lake, but driving out there we saw several fox cubs and we watch them for quite some time. The ticks were the worst I have ever seen, but the view wasn't too bad - double click to see it best. Tomorrow, Jackson Hole.

Day One - The Red Desert

2007-06-25T18:48:00.000-07:00

Well, I haven’t posted in a few days because we’ve been on vacation! So, I thought I would post as if we were on vacation. There simply wasn’t any internet for most of the vacation - Wyoming is known for its wide open spaces, not its internet access.

Day One –
We drove out of Denver headed north and west toward the Red Desert, the Great Divide Basin in south-western Wyoming. The Red Desert is an interesting and difficult place. It sits at the southern end of the Wind River Mountains at an average elevation of about 7000 feet composed of about 2.5 million acres, or 18,000 square miles. The continental divide separates into an eastern and western leg creating a basin from which no water escapes – not that there’s much to escape anyway. Geologically, it is an upraised and uplifted plateau worn down so that the oldest rocks in the US are now located at the surface. The largest active sand dune system in North America meanders across the Great Divide from the Jack Morrow Hills Study area to the Ferris Dunes, a distance of approximately 90 miles. Summer daytime temperatures bake the sand and clay soil, and in the winter zero is a warm day and thirty below is common. The wind rages day and night, day in – day out across the stunted sage. Before modern times it was uncrossable except on the north side hard up against the Winds. There, the Oregon Trail, the Overland Trail, the Cherokee Trail, the Mormon Pioneer Trail and the Pony Express Trail ran, and the land gave up its dust. The price to pay was rough terrain and the land still bares the wagon tracks. Such legendary figures as Chief Washakie and Jim Bridger hunted here, outlaws such as Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid hid from the law here, and mountain men Jedediah Smith, Kit Carson and others explored the Red Desert before the West was settled. Pronghorn are the main large animal (50,000 use the greater Red Desert area), but there are wild horses and a herd of desert elk. The only herd of its kind any where in the world. We saw them headed across the sage, south toward Table Rock.

The twenty-first century has drilled most of the basin for oil and wells dot the central basin; however, there are still areas of wonder and of history. I was part of early oil boom there in 1980 driving an oil tanker to keep the rigs running. It was there, in May 1980, that I saw the sun go down twice! I was driving west about 80 miles from the road and evening came and it got dark quickly- night descended. I thought nothing of it. After some time, the sun “rose” bright and red like a morning sunrise. It set again shortly there after. I found out after I got home that night Mt. Saint Helens had erupted. The sun had been blotted out and then peeked out from underneath the ash to then actually set.

We drove toward Steamboat mountain, across the alkali flats, through the dunes, and around the buttes, hunted fossils, and visited the tri-territory site. The plaque there says this:

This site, where the Continental Divide crosses the 42 degree parallel, North Latitude, was first claimed by Spain through the presumptive right of early discoveries and explorations. The area was also a part of Acadia, granted in 1603 by Henry IV of France, and part of New England as granted to the Plymouth Colony by James I, transferred to the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1629. In 1682, LaSalle claimed for France the whole basin of the Mississippi River (thus including the northeastern portion of this site).

France ceded its claim to Spain in 1762 but regained them in 1800 and sold the region of “Louisiana” to the United States in 1803.

Great Britain claimed the western portion of the site in 1792 and the United States laid formal claims in 1818 until the 42 parallel was accepted as the boundary between United States and Spain in 1819. Mexico, after gaining independence from Spain in 1821, reconfirmed the boundary lines. In 1824, Great Britain relinquished her claim to the area of the Columbia River basin, reaffirming this action by the Treaty of 1846 establishing the right of the United States to the “Oregon Country.” On July 4, 1848, the cession of territory by Mexico was proclaimed giving to the United States the undisputed right to all of Wyoming.

We spent the night in the shade of Steamboat mountain among aspen, and springs, deer, and tall grass. I suppose there aren't any trees in some directions for more than 175 miles, but it was a wonderful oasis. On top of Steamboat the weather is so grim, even the paintbrush (which I have seen grow anywhere) are stunted and small. The quiet is astounding, there is a complete absence of any lights - any direction. It is open country - about as open as it gets. I love it there. Someday I want to spend many weeks there. Tomorrow, we explore some of the neat stuff.

The Naked Run

2007-06-10T08:04:00.000-07:00

If there is a king of explorers, who would it be?

Let me tell you about the greatest explorer who ever lived. Everyone knows of Livingston, Shakleton, Lewis & Clark, Amundsen, Powell, Cook, and many others. But, have you ever heard of Colter? How about Colter’s Hell? The sad thing is that this great man is almost lost to history. There is no biography, no sweeping historical account, no long written legacy; and yet his exploration is unparalleled in US history. No explorer covered what he covered and knew what he knew - none, but one thing lifts him above the others – he saw it all before long before anyone.

Lewis & Clark are heralded as the greatest of the American explorers, and rightfully so; however, upon their return neither ever explored again. Lewis was mysteriously murdered on horse back and drunk having squandered his fame and fortune never really accomplishing much of anything substantive. He barely managed to publish his famous journal. Their personal dénouement was recrossing the Mississippi from west to east – the remainder was almost meaningless and insignificant.

Of importance though is that Colter was with Lewis & Clark on the voyage of discovery, but he did not return across the Mississippi. In what I believe to be the single most brazen act of exploration he; instead of collecting his pay, and returning to the accolades of a mesmerized society, in August 1806, at the Mandan Villages, turned back and headed west back again into the unknown. This is an extraordinary act. Colter had just spent three years on one of the most intense and dangerous explorations ever made only to turn around and go straight back.

He left with two other trappers (read explorers), one of the first groups to go up the Missouri. He wintered with them (one only lasting six weeks) and then the remaining trapper headed back down the Missouri too. Colter by him self, headed into the unknown and then he to headed back down the Missouri only to run into Manuel Lisa's first expedition to the upper Missouri, and his old comrades George Drouillard, Jean-Baptiste Lepage, John Potts, Peter Weiser, and Richard Windsor. Once again, Colter turned his back on returning to the home he had left in 1803, now becoming a free trapper for Lisa. Soon joined by Colter's former partner, Forrest Hancock, these men built Fort Raymond on the Yellowstone River at the mouth of the Bighorn. Lisa sent four men out during the winter of 1807-1808 to acquaint area Indians with his new post: experienced mountain man Edward Rose, and Lewis and Clark Expedition veterans Peter Weiser, George Drouillard, and John Colter.

Colter wandered about, was wounded in an Indian battle and did a number of things before his greatest “walk”. We know of his route only from Clark’s 1814 map. But Clark met with Colter so there was direct consultation; thus, the map and Colter’s route is taken as fact by most. The only difficulty is in believing Colter did the route by himself. During the winter of 1807-1808 he explored Jackson’s Hole, traveled north to Yellowstone and first saw Yellowstone Lake (later Eustus Lake), and then back out to the Bighorn River.

One of Colter’s most famous exploits is a 300 mile naked journey after being captured by the Blackfeet and given a “head start”. He out ran all of the young braves except for one and that one he killed with the braves own lance. The story goes like this:

The Blackfeet stripped Colter and discussed something in their language that he did not understand, and then motioned for him to leave. He began walking away, expecting to be shot. When he saw several young Blackfeet men preparing themselves for a race, he realized that he was being given a chance to run, which he did. Within a few miles his nose was bleeding and his strength failing, and only one Blackfeet was behind, gaining on Colter with an upraised lance. Surprising his attacker, Colter suddenly stopped. The Indian threw his lance, breaking it, but simultaneously tripped and fell. Colter killed him with the spear point.

Catching his second wind, Colter beat the Blackfeet to the Madison River, five or six miles from where he had started. He dived into the icy snowmelt water and hid under a raft of driftwood, where he held his nose above water while the Blackfeet searched for him, even walking on the wood overhead, as Colter related the story. Long after they moved away--and not until darkness fell--did Colter, in his own account, emerge and continue traveling east.

He ate seeds and berries, dug up roots with the spear head, drank from the Yellowstone River, and moved only by night. He made his way back (300 miles) to Fort Raymond in eleven days. (A previous trip of three weeks) Mountain man Thomas James described the apparition that staggered into the fort: "His beard was long, his face and whole body were thin and emaciated by hunger, and his limbs and feet swollen and sore." The men had to ask his identity. The quotation from James reads: "The company at the fort did not recognize him...until he had made himself known."

Colter spent several more years in the Wyoming area and continued to explore. He knew Jim Bridger, but left the mountains in 1810 having explored since 1804! Six years of exploration. All most all of his comrades lay buried in the mountains, yet he walked back east and finally recrossed the Mississippi from west to east.

Colter soon would have learned of Lewis's death the previous year. He is known to have visited Clark and given him information about his own Wyoming travels that Clark incorporated into his 1814 map. Colter had to sue the estate of Meriwether Lewis for the expedition pay that he never had collected, and settled for a lesser amount to end the suit in a few months. Now about thirty-five years old, Colter also married. He and his wife Sarah, called Sally, had a son they named Hiram. They settled at La Charette, where a neighbor was Daniel Boone. (Another hero of mine) In March of 1812, when Boone's son Nathan helped create the Mounted Rangers, a mobile frontier police force, Colter signed on. But he died of an unspecified illness on May 7. The end of one of the most amazing adventures of all time – six years on the spear-tip of American history. One of the first 10 men to see the Pacific Ocean, the discover of the Tetons and the first to describe Yellowstone, a survivor of many Indian battles, a six-foot giant of a man.

What's Bloom'in

2007-06-08T19:16:00.000-07:00

Making a natural prairie takes about three years and lots of time. This is year three and we're now starting to see a mature "garden". Most of the entire area was planted from seed and it just takes awhile. And, all the while there are lots of weeds to pull.

One of the showiest flowers in bloom now is a huge Palmeri Penstemon (Penstemon palmeri) This is over three-feet tall and is just blooming like like crazy. It blooms in early summer like all penstemons and is very drought tolerant. It produces 20 or so seeds at every flower and it has about 50 flowers on each stalk. The flower is very orchid like with a wonderful scent. Here's a close-up. A highly recommended semi-desert plant.

The beebalm (Monarda pectinata) is just starting to bloom. I dug this one up and true to its name, the bees really love it. It's very hardy, but doesn't spread out too fast. Also called Oregano de la Serra, it adds a nice flavor to sauces.

The poppies are just starting too. I love this simple cheerful flower. It is short bloomer, but seeds profusely. I don't have the carpet I would like yet, but that will no doubt come. These are Eschscholzia mexicana beside some Rocky Mountain penstemon.

The last picture is of the Rocky Mountain Penstemon (Penstemon strictus). These deeply blue flowers on straight and tall stalks just dominate the garden; their deep-blue screaming to out-do the sky. They too are excellent seeders and drought tolerant too.

Puppy - visit two

2007-06-08T17:54:00.000-07:00

These little guys melted our hearts. One of them we will pick up on July 1st. The breeder asked us lots of questions and based upon her observations, and testing by a outside consultant who tests the puppies, she will pick out the best puppy for us.

A picture is worth a thousand words - here's the pictures.

Buffalo Creek - Again

2007-05-27T15:46:00.001-07:00

Well, this is our favorite place to ride. We got some on Saturday, but it was a low energy day - a terrible ride for me. We got in 20, but I just wasn't up to it much. I thought I would post this picture of Tammi raging a bit. There are jumps everywhere - this is a small one and simply sweet, sweet singletrack.

Sandstone Creek

2007-05-26T07:05:00.000-07:00

I was bantering with some Louisiana boys just the other day about the word creek. I say creek - they say kreck. There’s run and kill, stream, and many others, but where I grew up it was creek.

When I was small boy we lived on Gordon Road, just down the road from Tompkins Center and Sandstone Creek crossed the road just down the hill from the house. It was a dirt road then, the bridge was red, rusty metal with boards for tire tracks. In between the tire boards was space and water below. It used to scare me to death to cross the bridge - I thought for sure we would plunge headlong into the creek never to be seen again. The boards were just too skinny to support a car, or so I thought. I was terrified and excited all at the same time whenever we approached the crossing. It was replaced in about 1964.

Tompkins Center was a branch in the road and one store then. The store was every bit a country store and it too sat beside Sandstone Creek. You could buy nails and shovels and food and beer. Everyone knew my Grandpa, who used to take me there almost everyday while getting something (for my Grandma, who never drove, ever). I most often got a candy bar - Heath bars were my favorite. I would eat all the chocolate off then eat the center like a sucker. (Sucker is another one of those regional words) My Grandfather is buried just up the hill, about 100 yards from the store.

Sandstone creek ran clear; the banks were steep and generally sandy, always surrounded by trees edged with corn fields, and then small farms. The creek started at Minards Mill, just about two miles from our house. The mill was gone, many years past, and just a dam remained forming a shallow, lily-filled lake of maybe twenty-acres. Sandstone creek ran through the fields and farms of my youth and then into the Grand River. The Grand wasn't so clear, but the creek was glorious. Its clarity exemplified the times, my youth, and the country life as it exists in most people's imagination. The barns, the woods, and simple carefree freedom we enjoyed have now been replaced.

Just down from the store the creek cut steeply into the bank and someone put a rope swing. In the summer the water was cool and deep. If you swung too far the result wouldn't be very pretty. I would have to say the rope swings in the barns were far worse. I’m surprised we survived. I don't think anyone would ever allow a swing there today.

Although, Sandstone Creek is still there, I fear it is gone forever - changed by sands of time that our modern world blows too quickly away.

Puppy!

2007-05-18T19:20:00.001-07:00

Well, the deed is done. Bridger's seen the puppies - now we're unquestionably getting one. Yes, news flash - I don't know if we're truly ready, but no going back now - we're getting a dog. They are little Airedales, just like Sabatchka. We will pick him/her up July first. The mom, Kendel, had 10 puppies and they are hungry little dudes too. We don't know which one we're going to get, we kind of want them all at this point, but $10,000 for new carpet doesn't sound too appealing either. So, it will be one. I'll keep you posted on the progress as I don't think we can stay away for too long.

Graduation!

2007-05-12T19:51:00.000-07:00

I have to post about this - Tammi's done! With school that is, well at least the undergraduate degree. The news though is not that she is done, but in the style she did it.

She was three classes short of a double major, and she graduated summa cum laude. It was a huge class load and now a very long list. Summa cum laude is the highest possible category. She got two A- during school - one in some writing class and one in a painting class. Everything else was an A. This is with classes like; a year of Latin, physics, cell biology, advanced painting, two years of art history, chemistry, organic chemistry, and many others.

But, not only did she do this while being a mom to three kids (and a wife). She also was the most outstanding graduate for her college at the University of Colorado. Out of several thousand graduates, there were seven - one for each college. These seven did not go unnoticed at the graduation ceremony. This is her with the Chancellor and a Dean and holding the mace. (Just in case the Dean got out of hand)

At a separate gathering afterwards for the college , one of the faculty gave her a nice plaque and some very nice words, and everyone stopped her.

We're incredibly proud of her. She deserves more congratulations than you can possibly dish out. She starts her masters in environmental science in the fall and she is teaching two sections of environmental science labs in the fall.

Coffee table

2007-05-09T21:05:00.000-07:00

I have some serious doubts about the coffee table design, and for the most part their are not aesthetic in nature. Although, I am still vacillating about a few things, they're minor. The most troublesome aspect is the tipping problem - despite my efforts at quantifying the exact magnitude of the the tip and weight required.

And, I've found out - rightly so. Fortuitously, Tammi & I have just run into a sculpturer through cub scouts who makes furniture. I popped him an email to see if he would give me some advice. Here's what he said - and this is great, "I am very learned on the subject of tippy tables, having built them almost entirely to the exclusion of stable ones." Tim is the perfect guy! He goes on to say:

"I do like the three legged idea, and the basically rectangular top that is responsible for those two overhanging corners that invite disaster. You might say I enjoy cantilever. I, too, have used ballast to achieve (or attempt to achieve) stability, including pouring molten lead into cavities in the wood, but in your case it seems to me that you could add additional, invisible or at least inconspicuous legs beneath the shelf, or a recessed base of a solid nature which would give you weight and an additional impediment to tipping. I hope you don't feel these solutions compromise the aesthetics of your design. It wouldn't take someone sitting on the corner of your table to upset it, indeed, leaning on one hand placed strategically would suffice. Believe me, I've gasped many a time as our kids have nearly upset the coffee table in our living room."

How perfect is that! His work, in part, is shown on his web site. Interestingly, Tim studied under several of the artists that have influenced Tammi - namely, Wayne Thiebaud & Roy DeForest. I look forward to getting to know Tim and seeing what happens with this little project.

So, I'm going to work on this a bit with Tim and hopefully we can come up with something unique and functional. At the very least, I haven't worked heavy sheet metal, or plate steel and wood together before so he will be a great asset on the connections that have worked for him. The joining of two , dissimilar items requires different kinds of connections.

Multa intersunt calicem et labrum summum.

Many things happen between the cup and the upper lip.

-Aulus Gellius (from a Greek proverb)

Wish I did this good in school

2007-05-07T08:47:00.000-07:00

I don't believe this is 8th grade science, it's just a little too hard. It's a quick test - if you're a little older, ahem - like me, but are interested in all things science it's not too hard. If the last thing you read about science was in high school you might be in trouble. Have fun...no groaning.

A "D" or worse - no recess for you.

Spring

2007-05-06T08:26:00.000-07:00

Spring has been slow in coming here in Denver, or at least our house. We sit high on a ridge south and east of Denver at about 6000 feet so spring comes at our house a bit later than even Denver. 800 feet make a big difference in terms of temperature and, in the spring, late snowfall. We received a lot of late snow (which melts in a day or two), and quite a bit cool weather. It's actually been nice to have a gradual temperature change from winter. The days have been in the mid-60's, so it might not be so cold as one might think; besides the sun at 6000 feet, whenever it shines, really puts out the heat!

Well anyway, spring is in the yard. The Oregon Grape (Mahonia aquifolium) is blooming nice big yellow blossoms. Perhaps, we'll get some small grapes in the fall. I love the red and green variations in the waxy leafs.

The xeriscape's first major group of flowers is Perennial Flax (Linum perenne). They're growing all over in nice blue patches. Its wiry, arching stems support a profusion of delicate, simple five petal, blue flowers which bloom for quite some time. And, it resists heat and will tolerate drought.

It seems the iris is up a bit early. I have a dwarf variety (Iris reticulata) in deep purples, mid-purple, and white. I have always been enthusiastic abut irises and remember them fondly in my grandmother's garden. These bloom quite a long time and the foliage isn't quite so large, so it doesn't dominate the summer garden too much. This picture reminds me of Van Gogh's Irises. It has the same qualities of the painting. Perhaps, it is just the purple. He painted a number of iris paintings after he checked himself into the loony bin. They were obviously the thing that caught his eye. Tammi says she wants to paint them too - perhaps I should keep out a close eye...

Of course, the grape hyacinth (Muscari armeniacum) is up too. At least what the rabbits didn't get to - that's an on-going battle. I want to rain death and destruction on the jumping, fur covered, nasty, mass producing, bastards. I can't even get started on the little rodents - my blog would get black-listed.

As you can see, I like purple and yellow. I purposefully picked plants with these colors because they are complementary colors (opposite on the color wheel). A garden is most appreciated for its color, but when picking the plants and planning the garden people seldom pay attention to that color and how works together. It's like matching clothes, or painting a room - how the color works is very important to the artistic and ascetic quality. For example; red, purple, and pink just don't work too well though they are often lumped together in a group of plantings. Besides color, leaf type and size are important. Thinking about how the eyes moves across the canvas; that is creating "waves" and "flow", is an important consideration too. That effect can range from formal, to wave-like, and even into crazy - where the effect is somewhat jarring visually. The important point is forethought.

Anyway, it's nice to see the flowers. Soon, the mountains will be blooming too - that's the true show!

Buffalo Creek

2007-04-30T13:41:00.000-07:00

Tammi and I managed to get up to Buffalo Creek again this week end. The weather was perfect for the most part. It blew up a bit of a storm during the last three miles, but no big deal. There was some snow left from last week's storm, but only about a dozen or so patches. With it, a little mud - but that only adds to the fun. We got in 18 miles of good, hard single track in good time - a good early season ride. The trail had a few blow-downs, but not like last week.

Otherwise, it was a typical week end - mow the lawn, clean the garage and all of the other stuff that gets in the way.

Stumbling...makes a new list!

2007-04-27T10:46:00.000-07:00

The full shortlist for the 2007 Royal Society Prize for Science Books:

Homo britannicus, by Chris Stringer (Penguin Allen Lane)
Homo britannicus tells the epic story of the human colonisation of Britain, from our very first footsteps to the present day. Drawing on all the latest evidence and techniques of investigation, Chris Stringer describes times when Britain was so tropical that humans lived alongside hippos and sabre tooth tigers; and times so cold they shared the land with reindeer and mammoth; and times colder still when humans were forced to flee altogether.

In Search of Memory, by Eric R Kandel (WW Norton & Co)
Nobel laureate Eric R Kandel charts the intellectual history of the emerging biology of the mind, and sheds light on how behavioural psychology, cognitive psychology, neuroscience and molecular biology have converged into a powerful new science. These efforts, he says, provide insights into normal mental functioning and disease, and simultaneously open pathways to more effective treatments.

Lonesome George, by Henry Nicholls (Macmillan)
Lonesome George is a 1.5m-long, 90kg tortoise aged between 60 and 200, and it is thought he is the sole survivor of his sub-species. Scientific ingenuity may conjure up a way of reproducing him, and resurrecting his species. Henry Nicholls details the efforts of conservationists to preserve the Galapagos' unique biodiversity and illustrates how their experiences and discoveries are echoed worldwide. He explores the controversies raging over which mates are most appropriate for George and the risks of releasing crossbreed offspring into the wild.

One in Three, by Adam Wishart (Profile Books)
When his father was diagnosed with cancer, Adam Wishart couldn't find any book that answered his questions: what was the disease, how did it take hold and what did it mean? What is it about cancer's biology that means it has not been eradicated? How close are we, really, to a cure? There was no such book. So he wrote it. One in Three interweaves two powerful stories: that of Adam and his father; and of the 200-year search for a cure.

Stumbling on Happiness, by Daniel Gilbert (Harper Press)
Psychologist Daniel Gilbert reveals how and why the majority of us have no idea how to make ourselves happy. The drive for happiness is one of the most instinctive and fundamental human impulses. In this revealing and witty investigation, psychologist Daniel Gilbert uses scientific research, philosophy and real-life case studies to illustrate how our basic drive to satisfy our desires can not only be misguided, but also intrinsically linked to some long-standing and contentious questions about human nature.

The Rough Guide to Climate Change, by Robert Henson (Rough Guides)
Robert Henson has written this guide to a pressing issue facing the world. The guide looks at visible symptoms of change on a warming planet, how climate change works, the evolution of our atmosphere over the last 4.5 billion years and what computer simulations of climate reveal about our past, present, and future. It looks at the sceptics' grounds for disagreement, global warming in the media and what governments and scientists are doing to try to solve the problem.

Yea!

2007-04-25T08:51:00.000-07:00

This weekend Tammi and I got out to our favorite mountain biking area - Buffalo Creek. It was sweeeet to be out.

It's been a long winter. We usually start up Buck Gulch, which has a 1000 foot climb out of Pine Creek Ranch. Wow, definitely a long winter - I've got some work to do. All-in-all it wasn't horrible, but I definitely have some serious work-outs to put in.

There was only a little snow left above 7500 feet, but I think it was just about the first week-end the trails were rideable. But, the mountains got hammered yesterday, so I expect this weekend is out. The trails in Buffalo Creek are some of the best, and perhaps, arguably the best in Colorado and thus, just about anywhere. (There are some better sections - trail 465 in Crested Butte, Frutia, the Flume in Winter Park, but not whole areas) And, what makes them so good is just how rideable they are. Well, it's a mess up there now, at least Buck Gulch and Strawberry Gulch. There are hundreds of trees down and the usually wide open trails are now clogged with downed trees. In some of the burned areas the winter blow-downs are simply a spring occurrence, but good, healthy Ponderosa blowing down is something entirely different. I suppose the winds must have been once in a century winds because many older Ponderosa Pines were down - some of them more than 200 years-old. I'm sure it will get cleared quickly, and I wish I could help, but the shear number of down trees will take quite a mechanized effort.

One of the unique things about Buffalo Creek is the burns. The first burn, the Buffalo Creek fire was in 1996, the second; the High Meadows Fire was in 2000. The Hayman Fire, the big kahuna, didn't make it over Green Mountain, but is very close (the Hayman Fire is the largest fire in Colorado's history burning 138,000 acres and 600 buildings. It rained down ash at our house almost 50 miles away and I remember, the day was almost black as night in downtown Denver - the entire city was shrouded in a dense, black, choking smoke). These are all big burns. Most of the time, an area is avoided after a burn, but the Forest Service has created this special mountain biking area using the burns and I really enjoy ridding through them. The flowers are terrific and the wide-open space unparalleled. The tracks are smooth and fast.

I don't know how many miles of single track there are, but it's easy to do a forty-mile ride and never go down the same trail. I suppose there are about sixty to seventy-miles of excellent trails - there simply isn't any junk. Most of the climbs are between 800 and 1000 feet and a good rides will get you four good climbs. The down hills are pure joy. The important part to remember is that these trails were designed for mountain bikes so there are no blind curves, unrideable sections, or bad rutting.

Anyway, this is our big work-out room and we love it - it's good to be back in the saddle.

Happiness

2007-04-21T13:14:00.000-07:00

Stumbling on Happiness

Daniel Gilbert is an interesting guy. He is high school dropout and the Harvard College Professor of Psychology at Harvard University, and he has a top-selling book. Amazon recently named Stumbling on Happiness their #7 book of 2006 in the category of Business, and their #1 book of 2006 in the category of Mind, Body, and Health. Both the Washington Post (in the US) and the Globe & Mail (in Canada) named it one of the best books of 2006. Stumbling is in its 7th hardback printing. I can usually boil down a book into some general ideas, but this one, for me, defies easy classification or some quick descriptive sentences.

Malcolm Gladwell, one of my favorite thinkers, is quoted on the cover (see Recent & Recommended), so I was interested right away. Steven Levitt obviously liked it a lot too and he is also one of those divergent thinkers who, along with Gladwell replace standard perceptions with compelling and interesting new ideas that tend to throw the status quo off a bit.

This book really isn't about happiness at all, at least not in the sense that you're thinking. Stumbling on Happiness brilliantly describes all that science has to tell us about the uniquely human endeavor to envision the future, and how likely we are to enjoy it when we get there. So, it's not about how to obtain happiness, but how we envision happiness between our two little ears.

Here's an excerpt -

What would you do right now if you learned that you were going to die in ten minutes? Would you race upstairs and light that Marlboro you've been hiding in your sock drawer since the Ford administration? Would you waltz into your boss's office and present him with a detailed description of his personal defects? Would you drive out to that steakhouse near the new mall and order a T-bone, medium rare, with an extra side of the really bad cholesterol? Hard to say, of course, but of all the things you might do in your final ten minutes, it's a pretty safe bet that few of them are things you actually did today.

Now, some people will bemoan this fact, wag their fingers in your direction, and tell you sternly that you should live every minute of your life as though it were your last, which only goes to show that some people would spend their final ten minutes giving other people dumb advice. The things we do when we expect our lives to continue are naturally and properly different than the things we might do if we expected them to end abruptly. We go easy on the lard and tobacco, smile dutifully at yet another of our supervisor's witless jokes, read books like this one when we could be wearing paper hats and eating pistachio macaroons in the bathtub, and we do each of these things in the charitable service of the people we will soon become. We treat our future selves as though they were our children, spending most of the hours of most of our days constructing tomorrows that we hope will make them happy. Rather than indulging in whatever strikes our momentary fancy, we take responsibility for the welfare of our future selves, squirreling away portions of our paychecks each month so they can enjoy their retirements on a putting green, jogging and flossing with some regularity so they can avoid coronaries and gum grafts, enduring dirty diapers and mind-numbing repetitions of The Cat in the Hat so that someday they will have fatcheeked grandchildren to bounce on their laps. Even plunking down a dollar at the convenience store is an act of charity intended to ensure that the person we are about to become will enjoy the Twinkie we are paying for now. In fact, just about any time we want something—a promotion, a marriage, an automobile, a cheeseburger—we are expecting that if we get it, then the person who has our fingerprints a second, minute, day, or decade from now will enjoy the world they inherit from us, honoring our sacrifices as they reap the harvest of our shrewd investment decisions and dietary forbearance.

Yeah, yeah. Don't hold your breath. Like the fruits of our loins, our temporal progeny are often thankless. We toil and sweat to give them just what we think they will like, and they quit their jobs, grow their hair, move to or from San Francisco, and wonder how we could ever have been stupid enough to think they'd like that. We fail to achieve the accolades and rewards that we consider crucial to their well-being, and they end up thanking God that things didn't work out according to our shortsighted, misguided plan. Even that person who takes a bite of the Twinkie we purchased a few minutes earlier may make a sour face and accuse us of having bought the wrong snack. No one likes to be criticized, of course, but if the things we successfully strive for do not make our future selves happy, or if the things we unsuccessfully avoid do, then it seems reasonable (if somewhat ungracious) for them to cast a disparaging glance backward and wonder what the hell we were thinking. They may recognize our good intentions and begrudgingly acknowledge that we did the best we could, but they will inevitably whine to their therapists about how our best just wasn't good enough for them.

How can this happen? Shouldn't we know the tastes, preferences, needs, and desires of the people we will be next year—or at least later this afternoon? Shouldn't we understand our future selves well enough to shape their lives—to find careers and lovers whom they will cherish, to buy slipcovers for the sofa that they will treasure for years to come? So why do they end up with attics and lives that are full of stuff that we considered indispensable and that they consider painful, embarrassing, or useless? Why do they criticize our choice of romantic partners, second-guess our strategies for professional advancement, and pay good money to remove the tattoos that we paid good money to get? Why do they experience regret and relief when they think about us, rather than pride and appreciation? We might understand all this if we had neglected them, ignored them, mistreated them in some fundamental way—but damn it, we gave them the best years of our lives! How can they be disappointed when we accomplish our coveted goals, and why are they so damned giddy when they end up in precisely the spot that we worked so hard to steer them clear of? Is there something wrong with them?

Or is there something wrong with us?

When I was ten years old, the most magical object in my house was a book on optical illusions. Its pages introduced me to the Müller-Lyer lines whose arrow-tipped ends made them appear as though they were different lengths even though a ruler showed them to be identical, the Necker cube that appeared to have an open side one moment and then an open top the next, the drawing of a chalice that suddenly became a pair of silhouetted faces before flickering back into a chalice again (see figure 1). I would sit on the floor in my father's study and stare at that book for hours, mesmerized by the fact that these simple drawings could force my brain to believe things that it knew with utter certainty to be wrong. This is when I learned that mistakes are interesting and began planning a life that contained several of them. But an optical illusion is not interesting simply because it causes everyone to make a mistake; rather, it is interesting because it causes everyone to make the same mistake. If I saw a chalice, you saw Elvis, and a friend of ours saw a paper carton of moo goo gai pan, then the object we were looking at would be a very fine inkblot but a lousy optical illusion. What is so compelling about optical illusions is that everyone sees the chalice first, the faces next, and then—flicker flicker—there's that chalice again. The errors that optical illusions induce in our perceptions are lawful, regular, and systematic. They are not dumb mistakes but smart mistakes—mistakes that allow those who understand them to glimpse the elegant design and inner workings of the visual system.

The mistakes we make when we try to imagine our personal futures are also lawful, regular, and systematic. They too have a pattern that tells us about the powers and limits of foresight in much the same way that optical illusions tell us about the powers and limits of eyesight. That's what this book is all about. Despite the third word of the title, this is not an instruction manual that will tell you anything useful about how to be happy. Those books are located in the self-help section two aisles over, and once you've bought one, done everything it says to do, and found yourself miserable anyway, you can always come back here to understand why. Instead, this is a book that describes what science has to tell us about how and how well the human brain can imagine its own future, and about how and how well it can predict which of those futures it will most enjoy. This book is about a puzzle that many thinkers have pondered over the last two millennia, and it uses their ideas (and a few of my own) to explain why we seem to know so little about the hearts and minds of the people we are about to become. The story is a bit like a river that crosses borders without benefit of passport because no single science has ever produced a compelling solution to the puzzle. Weaving together facts and theories from psychology, cognitive neuroscience, philosophy, and behavioral economics, this book allows an account to emerge that I personally find convincing but whose merits you will have to judge for yourself.

Give it a try - it will change what you think about the future and if you think about it long enough change a bit about happiness.

Some additional stuff on Amazon.

Coffee Table

2007-04-08T19:33:00.000-07:00

One advantage of making furniture is that you can match your existing stuff precisely in the way that you please. One disadvantage to making furniture is that you can match your stuff precisely in the way you please. The how becomes the question - a big question. The design becomes quite a laborious process fraught with false starts, bad ideas, and half-baked plans and quite a bit of uncertainty. With all the time and energy invested in the construction the design also dons a heavy mantel of importance.

Since I finished the nightstands our bedroom has improved quite a bit. We added a very modern touch to the whole room by adding brushed metal lamps, modern blown glass, and some modern sculpture (made by Tammi). We pulled off the mix pretty well, but I want to add a table in front of the couch - a coffee table that matches the antiques. But, I want to pull in a modern look too. I thought I would go through the design process a little and this design is fairly simple; that is, it doesn't have working parts, functionality, or other complications.

Off course, the Victorians didn't have coffee tables as such, but I could make a rectangular one with the same wood, construction, and finish. It would look like a coffee table, but match the old furniture. But, I think it might look a bit silly - kind of a fake antique masquerading as a coffee table. The form really doesn't lend itself to just anything you might expect to see. The obvious problem is; where's the "modern" in that? So, I thought about how to make it modern in more than just form - how about a brushed metal top with the remaining looking like the Victorian furniture? I thought about this for a while and thought it might look like a fake antique with a silly metal top. It simply needs something more.

Somehow, I need to suggest the shape and finish of the antiques without creating some goofy mix. While thinking about shape I started looking at pictures of purely modern furniture. This got me thinking about a incorporating some curves that suggest a certain style of modern furniture. One particular thing that bothered me was four legs. Everything has four legs and four legs seemed boring. What if I made the legs exactly the same as the antiques, but lost one and moved the third around close to the middle. This led me to draw this. In plan, the purple is the top and the orange is the shelve underneath. The legs and bottom shelve are of the same material and finish as the antiques. The top, metal, with a shape like the antiques. I thought I was on to something so I got started in CAD and drew and tweaked until I came up the proportions I liked.

Here is what that looks like. It might be a little hard to see, but if you double click I think you can make it out. The top view is the important one. You can see the bottom juxtaposed with the more traditional shape of the top and the location of the third leg. I intend to use wood under the metal top with exactly the same profiles as the antiques have. Thus, I have the same shape top with the same molding, but it is metal. I have the same exact legs, but there are three. The bottom shelve looks exactly like the tops, but it is a funky shape. Every element of the antiques is present, but no element is exactly the same and offers a bit of a surprise. It will be more like a modern piece that suggests the antiques and might blend the antique/modern look - maybe.

I think it will work, but I'm still not sure. Time for a model so I can see what it might look like. I printed out the CAD plan and used the printed version to scale a model. Out to the shop for a bit to make a quick table - a very little table. Now I have a bit of something to look at - shop if you will. Here are some pictures of the model. I think I like it, but I could have some problem with tipping as I located the middle leg off-center a bit. Even if it were centered I would most likely have the same problem. It, after all, is a three-legged table.

I decided I needed to do some testing on how much weight it would take to tip the table. When you tip this little scale model with your finger it seems to tip very easily. I took it to work and used the postal scale. The table weighs 1.1 oz. and it took 1.8 and 1.9 ounces placed on either corner (paper clips) to tip the table. A little math and an excel spread sheet produced the following calculations. (the calculation is - assumed weight/1.1 x 1.9 or 1.8) Thus, I can see (if I did things right) that if the table weighed about 40 pounds (I think it will weigh more, but I want to go low) a weight of somewhere between 62 and 72 pounds placed on the corners would make the table tip. That gives me a 20% spread on my calculations. I hope the calculations are right - I'm not known for being a math wiz! I think it unlikely that that much weight would be placed on one corner unless someone decides to sit on it. The most likely person to do that is Bridger, but he will most likely only do it once! As a last resort, if I did this all wrong, I can place some weigh under the bottom shelve located on the side with the two legs.

Now the question is; am I truely convenced the design meets my expectations and when it is finished it will really look good?

Passion, Age & Identity

2007-03-10T18:26:00.000-08:00

"Is not life a hundred times too short for us to bore ourselves?"
— Friedrich Nietzsche

Passion is the mirror of identity and identity the mirror of passion.

Many people define themselves by what they do or how they relate to others - a mom, an attorney, a racer, a biker, a web designer, an executive, a husband, or an artist. And I would guess, that even those that might deny it most likely do so. This "self-identity" often contains more than one definition. Someone might see themselves as a racer and a dad, or an attorney and a biker or even an artist, a mom, and a biker. Actually, having many passions is healthy. (Too many might be a problem - gee never been there....) Intellectual pursuits, the pursuits of family, and physical pursuits, all in sync, are the mark of a balanced life and most likely a balanced person. Often these self-identities happen to also be our passions. Joesph Campbell in "The Power of Myth" called this following your bliss.

People are fulfilled and happiest when their passion is also what they do - be it a job or some athletic pursuit, hobby, or other things they spend their time on. Certainly, the pursuit of our passions fills us with deep satisfaction.

Sometimes age overcomes our passions - we change. Lost passion isn't necessarily a bad thing - sometimes we just move on. The difficultly comes in the letting go and not loosing our identities. I once defined myself as a climber - it was truly a passion. I still love it, but now it doesn't dominate my life. I've simply have other passions now, but I still am that climber and all that I learned is still with me. (see Recreating Ones' Self) Some people get lost when passion fades, and it does so naturally, just as it should. When this happens they suddenly don't know what they are, where they're going, and what to do. There is most likely some of this in a mid-life crisis. I would go so far as to say each new decade brings new passions - I guess the trick is learning to move on to new things while still keeping our personal perspective in place. That sense of who we are and where we're going is very central to everyday life.

It is also important that our passions define us in a healthy way. For example, some might define themselves by their beauty and as they grow old the vain attempt not to loose that identity presents the world with a sad picture indeed. I think it goes without saying that our passions need to be healthy. I'm really not discussing unhealthy pursuits - that's another topic altogether.

"One person with passion is better than forty people merely interested."
— E. M. Forster

"With out passion you don't have energy, with out energy you have nothing."
— Donald Trump

Painting by Tammi Brazee, Seeing Red 2006 (kind-of reminded me of many passions)

Night stand (final post)

2007-02-24T10:48:00.000-08:00

Here's the final set -

Wikinomics

2007-02-20T08:15:00.000-08:00

In the traditional business model a company dreams up a product, builds the prototype, develops the product through testing, accomplishes quality control and then brings the product to market. That paradigm is ending, or at least changing. This isn't just some new business theory - it a fundamental change in the way things are getting done. In the last few years, traditional collaboration—in a meeting room, a conference call, even a convention center—has been superseded by collaborations on an astronomical scale. Wikinomics is mainly about innovation and how web-based collaboration is driving it. Also, the book speaks to organizational dynamics and how the web is eating away at traditional hierarchies.

In the book, Wikinomics the , the authors document a new trend, a new way of getting things done that is changing traditional model in major ways. The word "wiki" means "quick" in Hawaiian, and here author and think tank CEO Tapscott (The Naked Corporation), along with research director Williams, paint in vibrant colors the quickly changing world of Internet togetherness, also known as mass or global collaboration, and what those changes mean for business and technology.

In Google News I ran across a story about a new product Adobe is putting out called Photshop Lightroom 1.0. The software was freely available as a beta version for just over a year during which Adobe used its market; the professional photographer, to develop the final version. They called it a massive collaborative effort. While launching the new digital photography software, John Loiacono, senior vice president, Creative Solutions Business Unit at Adobe, has said, “It’s an unlikely scenario that professional photographers would moonlight as software developers,” adding further that “Fortunately for us, they were willing to give it a shot. Everything, from image viewing and evaluation tools to time saving editing features, was developed with the help of photographers. This was truly a collaborative effort and we extend our thanks to everyone who provided invaluable feedback to help us deliver a powerhouse professional photography tool.”

Wow, how's that for a new way to do business - allow the users to develop the product. The company saves most of the R&D cost, creates a better product, perhaps a cheaper product, and it's exactly what the end user wants. The beta version expires at the end of this month and the new version is available now.

This is an interesting trend and I recommend the book. Now only do you begin to see a new business model, but a new societal shift. (Witness Adobe in the news just today) For those who loved The World is Flat, but got lost in the global scope, Wikinomics focuses on our real-time world. Wikinomics focuses on the impact of recent technologies, and on the way business must conduct themselves for the future, if they want to thrive.

If you study this graphic a bit you can begin to see the power of global mind - wasn't there an old Star Trak about a race who existed in one body - a giant mind? I digress - here it is...

Night Stand (post ten)

2007-02-18T19:51:00.000-08:00

Well, the night stands are done. I spent about two weeks finishing the pair. Here's the process in thumbnail - first, I mixed a aniline dye and thoroughly covered the entire piece, inside and out. After some sanding (because the water raised the grain) I coated the pair in a coat of varnish thinned with mineral spirits. This sealed the dye and allowed me to then rub in gel stain. I used a mahogany gel stain which colored the deep grain of the oak in an even, dark color matching the aged appearance of the original pieces I attempted to match. After this was thoroughly rubbed in I then put on 3 coats of poly. I put a few more coats on the top sanding between coats to level the surface.

After this was all complete I installed the hardware.

Night Stand (post nine)

2007-02-10T04:18:00.000-08:00

The last remaining items to build are the drawers. Drawers require a quite a bit of material and thus a quite a bit of milling. For the sides, I took a large board of Alder and cut it into 1/2" thick sections to produce the sides and back. I used Poplar for the bottom. These had to be glued up because of the 16" depth. All this milling and gluing took quite some time.
I planned out how I wanted the dovetails to look and then cut each part just a bit larger than needed to fit in the drawer holes. Going back and forth between the stand and the work bench and using various hand planes produced pieces that fit exactly into each space. The drawers will have no modern slides so they must fit very precisely in order to work and not bind.

Once this was complete the dovetails were cut using a dovetail jig and a router.

The end result looks like this.

After all of the pieces are milled and fit and dovetailed the drawers were assembled. As usual, the bottoms of the drawers float as a panel and are not glued. Once glued, the drawers are final fit into each drawer slot until they slide nicely.

Next, to finish.

Night Stand (post eight)

2007-01-07T17:03:00.000-08:00

It has been a few days since my last post, but I had some redundant work to do - gluing up the second stand. After I removed the clamps from the second stand I finished the tops routing a 5/8 radius on the underside and hand cutting a radius on the front corners. I then attached them to the stands. Next, I milled a some small blocks that attach to the top and fit into the dado milled into the sub-top.

They are shown above and loosely fit into the groove. These blocks will be screwed from the bottom to secure the top. The top then fits tightly, but can move without either splitting and cracking or tearing apart the joints below.

Next, the four doors. These are similar in construction to the rest of the stand - mortise and tenon construction with a floating panel; however, I used a thicker piece of wood and raised the panel putting the raised section toward the inside.

The center stiles are half-lapped with a beaded edge run down the center. The center of the doors are cut at 2 degrees off of 90 so the doors don't bind when shutting. This all was done on the table saw and the router table. You might notice I have drawn exactly what I need to do the end of the center stile so it can't get screwed-up. After many steps it really sucks to mess up and have to go all the way back through to recreate the piece.

After gluing up the doors they are fit into each opening. There are a couple of things I can point out with the proportions of the doors. (you may have to click on the picture to see this) Notice that the bottom rail is the widest. Although, you may not realize it, a door with all of the rails and stiles the same width looks odd. Also notice that the center stiles are each much smaller, but together make up about the width of a regular stile. Next, I start the drawers.

Random and Unnessasary, but Priceless

2007-01-01T21:37:00.000-08:00

From Apocalypto:
(early morning with a dog barking in the background)

Jaguar Paw's wife, Seven to Jaguar Paw -

"As long as you're up, why don't you kill the dog"

Night Stand - glue up (post seven)

2007-01-01T17:13:00.001-08:00

I had a list of about half-a-dozen items to finish before I was ready for a dry run for glue-up, one of which was to put a small bevel in the front legs. Both of the pieces I'm matching have such a bevel; although both are a little stronger than what I want to make. This is accomplished on the table saw with a small jig I threw together from scraps. After beveling the leg the cut is cleaned up with a hand plane.

With all of the pieces cut and all of the miscellaneous items complete I'm finally ready for the dry run. This is the fun part as I now get to see what everything will look like and how all my joints fit. One of the important elements of the dry run is making sure that I can fit, glue, and clamp everything in the order I anticipate. This is something that can get screwed up during the glue-up, so everything has to be just right. Here's the final stack. What's missing are all the drawer and door parts.

Many of the parts are numbered and identified either one or two (I'm making two), but not all; so as I fit each piece I will note inside/down, etc... so I don't have any unexpected problems and so any defects in the wood face in. Glue-up needs to go as quickly as possible. It took about 45 minutes to get to this. Now to take it back apart and glue it up.

Here's what it looks like all clamped.

Now, the only thing that remains during this phase is attaching the sub-top. It gets screwed onto the end of each leg. I don't have to worry about wood movement so screws work well. These four screws will be the only fasteners in the stand (except for the hinges). Tammi and the kids are coming back tonight so I will go much slower now. Next, is to glue up the other stand and start and the doors. I also need to buy the hinges so I can make sure, as I make the doors, that everything will work.