©Bert Gildart: On June 22, 1969, the Cuyahoga River in Ohio caught fire sparking an environmental movement that continues to this day. Though this horribly polluted river had caught fire many times in previous years, because so many other national environmental problems existed in the late ‘60s, it was this particular disaster that sparked creation of Earth Day and the Clean Water Act.  Today, among some, the word “environment” foments anger in ways that almost defies common sense, and it seems we should recall that the desire for quality living once brought many together.

Certainly some of the beneficiaries of the solutions to problems of the ’60s were those people living south of Cleveland and north of Akron, for it also generated a local movement. Suddenly residents wanted to clean up the Cuyahoga River, not realizing that they might be creating something magnificent that they had not initially envisioned. What many forget today, is that in those days almost everyone was an “environmentalists.” And that it was popular to be one.

One of the many bridges that take cyclists along the park's 26 mile bicycle trail.

First, volunteers and professions cleaned the river. Then, later, national park planners capitalized on the historic Ohio and Erie Canal that paralleled the Cuyahoga, creating a national recreation area out of the river and out of the historic canal. Then, in the year 2000, managers went even further elevating the area to that of a national park. By doing so, not only have the lives of locals been enriched, but so have the lives of visitors — curious about what they might find in Ohio’s only national park. It’s a category into which Janie and I recently fit, and now we  too are Cuyahoga National Park enthusiasts.

ENTHUSIASTIC STRANGERS

For the past few days Janie and I have been exploring this national park, enjoying it by pursuing one of our passions and that is bicycling. We began our explorations parking our truck at the visitor center in Peninsular where we unloaded our bikes and struck out for Indian Mound Train Station, located about 12 miles away. The scenery was lovely and the history moving, but what interested us as much as anything was the enthusiasm so many strangers shared about Cuyahoga National Park.

One lady came over to us as we were enjoying an interpretive area labeled “Beaver Marsh,” and told us that once the area had been a Volkswagen junkyard. Then she said that one day, about 20 years ago, she drove by and saw huge cranes lifting rusting car bodies from the mud. “It made me happy,” she said. “Really happy.”

Deer and Great Blue Herons have returned to what was once an area too polluted for most any kind of life. Both photos taken on the same day from along the bike trail in this fascinating national park.

Later, a volunteer at the Hunt Visitor Center added to her thoughts. “The plan,” he said, “was to make the junkyard into a parking lot. But several beavers built a dam and that created a new plan.  Mangers thought the beaver had a better idea and today, we must have at least four lodges in and around the marsh. That makes for about 30 beaver.”

TRAINS HELP CYCLISTS

Today, a lengthy board walk now takes cyclists across this grand example of nature, one that combines with other aspects and which is deserving of national park status. In fact, the entire park with its history of the canal system and examples of nature prompted us to spend a number of days cycling the park from one end to the other. Because trains were also part of the history of the area, the park service has added train transportation that benefits visitors, and certainly cyclists. Between Wednesday and Sunday, you can park your car at any of about five different train stops, cycle to some distant place along the canal, flag down a train and then for $2.00 hop aboard and return to your vehicle.

Often weekends at Cuyahoga attract performers, in this case at the Peninsular Train stop

Cycling then is a great experience and along the way Janie and I saw great blue herons, beaver, wood ducks and various species of turtles. As well, the trail takes you to old farms, to small villages defined by the large quantities of fruit and vegetables for sale. And of course, it interprets the canal system that helped settle a nation.

But it does yet more: Cuyahoga National Park demonstrates the blight that too much industrialization can bring about. On an upbeat note it also demonstrates how resilient nature can be when concerned citizens band together and insist that, yes, there really is a better way of living life. Cuyahoga is literally up from the ashes.

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THIS TIME LAST YEARS:

*Alaska’s Chena Hot Springs

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©Bert Gildart: It’s impossible for us to pass near Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota and not make the 50-mile detour south to camp there, even if it is only for a night. This year we particularly wanted to see these Badlands because everything seems so lush. We were not disappointed.

The park is divided into a North Unit and a South Unit, but this time around we only had time for only the North Unit, which is separated from the South Unit by about 30 miles. Over the years I’ve written about six stories for a variety of magazines and done so because this isolated area grows on you, celebrating as it does grasslands, buffalo, wild horses – and the rugged life of Theodore Roosevelt.

ROOSEVELT SAID BADLANDS MADE HIM PRESIDENT

After settling into a campsite we drove the park road to the Little Missouri Overlook and I was reminded that once Roosevelt had marched two thieves to justice along this river, staying awake reading Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. Later he remarked that Karenina was unprincipled.  He also said in later years that “If it had not been for my days in the Badlands of North Dakota I would never have been president of the United States.”

Little Missouri flowing through badlands lush with an abundance of vegetation not often seen.

Roosevelt also found solace here, having fled to these very same badlands shortly after his wife and mother died on the same exact day; and as I looked over the expanse of badlands I could see how one might simultaneously find physical challenge and peace. Before me the river flowed serenely and the expanse of lush vegetation that rolled over the Badlands on our July visit offered a sense of well being. But the Badlands that backdropped the Little Missouri could also offer hardship, something one is instantly aware of when the winds wail and when you struggle to climb a steep hill on a day temperatures approach the hundred degree mark.

On this brief stop, however, Janie and I saw only the most benevolent side. The river flowed clear and blue, bison starred back from shaded bluffs, and soft breezes caressed a multitude of flowers and grasses that bowed and dipped on this mild mid summer day.

And now, we’re back on the highway sufficiently rejuvenated to cope with another few days of highway travel.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*The Park That Made a President

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T. Rex at Fort Peck Visitor Center

©Bert Gildart: For those of you wondering about my delinquency in posting let me start by saying that we’ve been consumed with packing for an extended trip east, now underway. Compound that with our current location in  eastern Montana, and, here, the remote setting makes Internet connectivity sporadic. As well, we’ve been scurrying around — getting reacquainted with Fort Peck, one of  our favorite areas in the state.

Fort Peck is sandwiched between Wolf Point, Montana, and the eastern edge of the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge. To some that means you’re in the middle of a vast monochrome of desiccated grasslands, but if you settle in for awhile, the land grows on you.

FIRST COVER OF LIFE MAGAZINE

For starters, Fort Peck is contiguous with the huge Fort Peck Lake, more properly designated a reservoir, but one that now features some of the state’s best fishing. Once the dam creating the reservoir was a WPA work project, part of FDR’s New Deal. It was intended to extricate a hungry nation from the Great Depression of the 1930s.

The men who worked here for a period of about seven years helped to create such a colorful chapter in America’s history that Fort Peck Dam served as the very first cover of Life Magazine. The photographer was Margaret Bourke White, and she was associated with others who have become some of my journalistic heroes and heroines.

Ms. White was married to Erskin Caldwell, who wrote God’s Little Acre and Tobacco Road. Her photos, which constituted a story “Saturday Night In Montana,” were accompanied by a story written by Ernie Pyle, subsequently famous as a war correspondent.

The dam was constructed between 1933 and September 22 of 1938, and if one were suddenly transported to some lofty position high overhead, the Fort Peck Dam work area must have looked like a mound crawling with ants. Ten thousand men worked here and with their families, the number rose to 50,000 people, living in places such as New Deal, Square Deal, McCone City, Roosevelt – and of course, Fort Peck.

T-REX

Since those days other significant things have happened in the area, most notably the discovery that the eroding lands have been revealing past occupancy. Some years ago, a fossil of Tyrannosaurus rex was discovered about 20 miles southeast of the center, meaning that about 60 million years ago this was dinosaur country.

Click to see larger images. L to R:  Michele Fromdahl, Fort Peck Interpretive Center Director; J. R. Rasmusan, fishing guide extraordinaire; bison in nearby wildlife paddock.

Subsequent to the discovery paleontologists began exploring the much eroded landscape and soon learned that the area contains one of the world’s richest of fossil areas. With that discovery, and the fact that the area was loaded with human history and was adjacent to one of the largest national wildlife refuges in the lower 48 states, the Corps decided to construct an elaborate and immensely informative visitor center.

Today, the visitor center informs on both the area’s human history and its natural history. It explains the function of the dam. As well, the same lands administered by the Corps of Engineers provide what Janie and I have come to believe is the nation’s very best campground.

MECCA FOR PHOTOGRAPHERS

From the spacious campground, Janie and I have explored the adjacent Charles M. Russell Wildlife Refuge, fished the reservoir, explored the “birding trail,” and traveled the Dinosaur Trail. For me, photography figures into this equation, and each time I come here I try and create new images, and have done exactly that this time around. With the exception of my fishing photograph of J.R. Rasmuson, all images posted here are from our current visit.

Put in other words, if you stop here you’ll see exhibits of dinosaurs; you’ll see bison roaming a huge bison paddock; and you’ll see the glimmer of night lights produced by the dam’s huge turbines that now help power five different states.

Click for larger images.  L to R: Night images of generator towers, which work to supply power for five states.

That’s only for starters, and in another day or so, we may post a few of my birding images, taken on the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge.

Indeed, this is a Mecca for those with a yen for outdoor explorations.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*Art from World Eskimo Indian Olympics

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©Bert Gildart: OK, it’s official! On May 17^th Montana Public TV will air a “Night of the Grizzlies” retrospective.

As many may recall, 43 years ago on August 13, 1967, two young women were fatally mauled, one at Granite Park Chalet, the other, at Trout Lake. A huge mountain range separated the two incidents as did about eight linear miles, making it impossible for the same grizzly bears to have been involved in both tragedies. However, conditions at both sites were similar in that the bears had been habituated to people by the presence of garbage.

GARBAGE THE CULPRIT

At Granite Park Chalet, managers were intentionally disposing of garbage immediately behind the rustic stone building, doing so to attract grizzly bears. Unfortunately, the route the bears followed to the chalet passed directly through the Granite Park Chalet campground, and on that horrible night, the route led directly to where a young woman was camped.

By virtue of backcountry neglect, once Glacier's grizzlies dined sumptuously on garbage. Generally, it was unintentional, but not always.

At Trout Lake campers had been disposing of excess food or food they couldn’t eat, creating odors that also attracted bears. Much the same had happened at other park campgrounds, but the conditions were particular serious at this beautiful site because it also happened to be some of the park’s best bear habitat.

As a young ranger in the park, I was involved with the two incidents, tangentially at Granite Park Chalet, and personally at Trout Lake. At Granite Park Chalet, I heard the call for help over the radio as I was shuttling a huge CAT over Logan Pass. It was about midnight and I was on road patrol, and the radio pack set at the chalet was apparently too small for effective transmission. From my patrol car (I was working that summer as a road patrol ranger) I relayed the message to headquarters.

ANOTHER MAULING?

The next morning I was astounded when Norman Hagen, another ranger, pounded on my door and said that I must hightail it to Trout Lake, for there had apparently been another bear mauling.

In previous posts I’ve reported on my involvement, and much of this will be replayed May 17^th.   But Montana Public TV interviewed everyone involved, and there were many others; and some played particularly significant roles. There was a doctor, a helicopter pilot, and a ranger stationed at Granite Park. There were hikers who had accompanied the victims, and tried — after the mauling — to do what they could. There was Leonard Landa, a ranger and my partner in tracking down and disposing of the bear. There was a minister at Granite Park, who provided comfort…

I believe the TV company found most all these people, so the reporting promises to be thorough. Gus Chambers, one of the program’s film makers, tells me that they have also recreated many of the scenes using actors, so I will be anxious to see how this comes off. (Did they choose Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp to portray me?)

Today, upon encountering people, MOST bears in Glacier prefer to go another way.

Gus says he will soon known the URL for an Internet “streamed” version and that he will share it when it is final. That means people all over the world can watch the program on their home computers. I’m excited as I believe the program will dispel many myths.

100 YEAR ANNIVERSARY

Presumably, because the program is airing on the 100 year anniversary of Glacier National Park there will also be some retrospective on what conditions were like in 1967, and what they are like now. At the time, after finding the body of one of the young women, I had to wonder why we needed bears in Glacier, but my thoughts have changed. They’ve changed because these magnificent beasts are no longer habituated to garbage, and that means your chances of encountering a grizzly bear are really very, very small.

Put another way, you are probably safer hiking the trails of Glacier than you are driving through the Flathead Valley to the park’s various entrance stations. In other words, you are forewarned about inherent problems, and you can certainly elect to remain off the trails; but then you’d be missing a lot. Though there are problems sometimes, park rangers and managers have learned much over the past four decades and are doing a good job today of “Keeping Glacier’s Grizzly Bears Wild.”

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR

Poke Salad

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Dismantling blind after extremely successful day on Sage Grouse Lek.

©Bert Gildart: It’s pitch black and though we’re quiet, a herd of antelope senses our presence and tests the air with a whishhhh-ing sound. But when our response doesn’t satisfy the group it  gallops off into the pre-dawn light. Again, the vast  prairie  is quiet and we walk on, but soon hear the soft clucking of another species.

Chuck and I are hiking this expanse  not too far from Bannack State Park near Dillon, Montana. We’re here to find sage grouse. Spring is the mating season for this largest of all members of the grouse family and we want to photograph their celebrated mating rituals at one of the state’s historic leks.

Even in this somewhat featureless land of three-lobed sage and big sage, Chuck knows exactly where to go. Quickly he finds what he’s looking for and begins setting up his photo blind.

We settle in to see what morning will bring. It’s cold, well below freezing, and we hunker into our down-filled parkas.

Suddenly Chuck is alert. “Here comes one,” whispers Chuck. “We may have frightened them off initially, but they’re back now!”

WORKING INTO A FRENZY

He’s right and within a few minutes the ground before us is covered with 15 to 20 males and females. Immediately several of the males begin their dance. It is an amazing thing to see.

First they thrust out their white chest feathers. Then, they begin working themselves into a frenzy, inflating their yellowish colored air sacks. Sometimes, they inflate them but partially, other times to the point where they look like huge mammary glands.

But they’re not; they are specialized sacs extending from the esophagus, apparently evolved for the sole purpose of attracting females. At the moment, however, the objects of their affections seem oblivious.

Males begin display by flaring tail feathers and puffing out chest. Sometimes it will “pace” back and forth. Next it begins to inflate its air sacs and tucks its head down all the while creating a whooomping-like sound.

But even if the females aren’t excited, I am, and though I doubt pictures will turn out in this low-light condition, both Chuck and I snap off a few images. Sunrise is still minutes away and though the birds appear as dark blobs, I hope for the best and continue with my reassurance shots. Who knows, perhaps a coyote will come along and spook the group. Or maybe a bald eagle will soar overhead. If that happens, I want some recollection of my experience, for these are amazing birds, not only because of their mating rituals, but because of their general appearance.

“COCK OF THE PLAINS”

Indeed, this “Cock of the Plains,” as Lewis and Clark called them, is a handsome bird. Adults have a long, pointed tail and leg feathers which extend  down to their toes. Over the eyes there’s a yellow brow patch which contrasts with its gray head. When not inflated breasts are white, while the throat and belly range between dark brown and black.

Male grouse with inflated air sacs, wings dropped and tail feathers made erect.

Bodies are huge and large males may weight seven or eight pounds, making the species a prize for hunters. Ornithologists also adore the bird, but probably more for its ritualistic behavior. For these reasons the two groups often work together hoping to insure survival of this magnificent species. Unfortunately, habitat has been eliminated and with it the sage grouse has been reduced to the point where it now occupies little more than 50 percent of its former range. Leks, too, are smaller, and in some places once spread over half a mile and were hundreds of yards wide. Here, hundreds of mating birds once gathered. Sadly, that is no longer the case.

But this morning all seems right with their world, smaller though it might be. Half an hour later the sun poked its brilliant head above the horizon, and it was then that two males began competing with one another. Though the displays are conducted for the benefit of the females, males also compete physically, and this was to be one of those mornings.

Suddenly two males begin a struggle that carried them through the sage brush and off over a small knoll. Five minutes later, one returned and resumed its solo display for the nearby females.

THE ALPHA MALE

Only a few males do the breeding, and this huge fellow appeared to be the alpha male; and he was working himself into a frenzy of color and puff. Next to me Chuck’s camera whirled as he depresses the shutter and then held it down. The action was fast, and capturing some of the excitement required the assurance that only a camera with motor drive can provide.

Chuck and I continue with our fast-action photography and by mid morning realized that we’d begun to fill up the cards of our digital cameras. “Haven’t shot so many pictures in a long time,” said Chuck. Then, looking at the image counter: “I’ve taken over 300 pictures.”

Males attempt to woo hens by creating a presence that is more attractive than competing suitors.

Looking at my frame counter I’m astounded to see that I’d recorded a similar number. Smiling, we both agreed there wasn’t much more to do other than wait for the grouse to disperse, which they generally do, about 9. Though there’s no written rule, protocol says you should disturb the birds as little as possible.

True to form by mid morning the grounds were bare of life and we packed our equipment. We knew we’d seen something very special. In fact, some say that watching grouse on their leks is one of the nation’s top birding experiences. (Another can be seen at Bosque.)

I know two photographers who would certainly agree.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*Natchez Trace

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Janie says we're toughing it out in Zion National Park. (Note solar panels and Watchman Mountain on right rear.) Though conditions are obviously austere, still, she wonders if you'd: "Care to join?"

©Bert Gildart: When weather conditions deteriorate there’s not a whole lot an RVer can do but roll with the punches.

Right now — as I write — Monida Pass, the 6,824 foot-high pass that separates Montana from Idaho, is experiencing blizzard conditions, and we must cross it in order to return home. No big deal, we’ll just stay another day in Zion, which has also experienced inclement conditions.

Unlike Mondia, which is getting lots of snow, Zion has gotten only a little bit of snow; still its presence creates even more glorious conditions. Colors are more saturated and geological lines created by the ages seem more pronounced.

Campgrounds also seem to clear a bit, and that could be a good thing as the Watchman Campground has been booked through to November, and so we have not been able to get in. However, South Campground is immediately adjacent to the Watchman and though it offers no electricity (Watchman does) that has not been a problem, even with cloudy days.

Our four solar panels (two on top and two portable ones) are adequately collecting sufficient  energy for us to do anything we want. With them we have power to operate my energy-consuming computer and the equally as energy-depleting fan that blows out heat from our Airstream’s furnace. Even on cloudy days.

Click for larger image. L to R: Checker Board Mesa, ancient snag; Altar of Sacrifice, so named for streaks of red created by ancient depositions of iron oxide.

And so we are warm and productive and have been enjoying other aspects of this park, which turned 100 just last year. We’ve again toured Zion Canyon (by shuttle bus now, as starting April 1 cars are no longer permitted ) and photographed several more magnificent edifices, specifically Abraham Peak and Isaac Peak – whose names are symbolic to the Mormons.

BOOK OF MORMON

Abraham and Isaac combine with Mount Moroni to form the Court of the Patriarchs. Moroni was named for the angel that Joseph Smith said visited him on numerous occasions, beginning on September 21, 1823. The angel was the guardian of the golden plates, which Smith said were buried near his home in western New York, and which he said were the source material for the Book of Mormon. Though the tableau has never been found still, its presumed existence inspired the Mormon religion, which has endured.

Abraham and Isaac peaks photograph well in early morning light.

Other features were named by Mormons and one is the Temples of the Virgin embracing the  Altar of Sacrifice, so named for the red streaks that course downward. The streaks, which look like blood, actually derive from depositions of iron oxide. Clouds and snow of the past few days have dramatized the temples and framed (see above three photos and then focus on image to the right) the Altar of Sacrifice.

CHECKER BOARD MESA AND JURASSIC WINDS

Later in the day, Janie and I drove the Zion Mt. Carmel Highway. Snow had splashed an ancient snag with patches of white and melt water helped dramatize latent colors in the wood.

We drove to the East Entrance and photographed the banding in Checker Board Mesa. Horizontal banding was created by Jurassic winds, which deposited vast bands of sand in what is now Zion Park. Though the bands tend to be horizontal, when these ancient winds shifted, so, too, did the inclination of the layers. Vertically oriented bands are the result of freezing and thawing, all combining (again, see above) to create a checker board appearance, hence the name.

Sunset adds wonderful red glow to the Watchman -- heralding not only the end of the day, but also the end of our stay in Zion National Park.

Our campground “home” in South Campground is back dropped by a huge monolith called the Watchman, and the other night, the setting sun imparted a wonderful red color to the huge mountain, creating a colorful ending to our day as well as to what is most likely the end of our time in Zion.

The experiences now add to those I’ve been enjoying in this park for over 30 years and which Janie and I have been enjoying for almost 20 years. Zion has always been one of my favorite national parks, and the rain and snow have done nothing to alter those feelings.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*Natchez Trace National Parkway

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Daniela Weiss dramatizes the 1400 feet of vertical relief "enjoyed" between Angel's Landing and the Virgin River, far below

©Bert Gildart: Yesterday I was joined by three friends from Montana, but what we really share in common is that Chris, Hutch (see bear spray) and I have all worked in and generally explored many of our national parks. Yesterday, all of us (including Daniela, Chris’ wife) agreed: The hike from the Grotto in Zion National Park to Angel’s Landing is one of our nation’s premier experiences.

From the Landing you get a bird’s eye view of features that inspired such names as The Pulpit, Temples of the Virgin, The West Throne, The Temple of Sinawava, and the Court of the Patriarchs, just to mention a few.

Though you don’t have to make the climb to appreciate the park’s incredible red rocks, ascending such edifices makes you think about beauty and our place in the Cosmos. Some of these rocks were the result of winds that blew during the Jurassic Period, some 140 million years ago.

NOT FOR EVERYONE

But the climb is not for people with recovering knee injuries (such as my wife, Janie) or for anyone with a fear of heights. Nor is the climb for anyone in poor shape, for the hike ascends 1400 feet in a distance of 2.5 miles and in the course of the climb traverses about 30 switchbacks, 18 of which have inspired names such as “Walter’s Wiggles.”

From the Grotto you climb two miles to Scout’s Landing, and though the hike is steep, this is not the section that might send those squeamish about heights into overdrive. It’s the next section, the half-mile section that requires you cling to the park-installed chains, least you slip and descend into the abyss. But it is also this section that generates so much awe and that often compels people to overcome fears.

Click to see larger image. L to R: Hike to Angel’s Landing begins abruptly, and never changes; Chris and wife Daniela peer through hole created by drops of water; descending through Walter’s Wiggles and entering Refrigerator Canyon; descending from Angel’s Landing using security of chain.

“Everyone else,” you say to yourself, “is doing it, so why shouldn’t we?”

PHOTOGRAPHIC CHALLENGE

Yesterday, as we hiked, we saw entire family groups. We saw couples toting babies in packs and this we thought was dangerous, for balance is required. Fortunately, we think the couple must have gotten this message as we never saw them after the first stretch.

For the photographer, the challenge is to figure out some way of dramatizing the 1400 feet of vertical relief that certainly had an impact on me. But there’s also the challenge of showing the beauty of Angel’s Landing and all that surrounds it. Daniela (a psychologist) helped as she inched toward the edge on her stomach, trying to absorb all that lay below. And later, Chris and Hutch (our next door neighbor) and Daniela again helped by descending a staircase cut into the stone that tumbles off into space. The chain is your anchor of life.

Descending from Angel's Landing, secured from the abyss by a stout chain.

Still, it’s hard to convey the feeling just with pictures as the scene is comprised of so many sensory elements. There’s the sun beating on your shoulders, the smell of cedar, the sound of tiny chipmunks scurrying in and out of the rocks, and the freshness of wind gusts that can only be described as whimsical.

And then there’s the beauty derived from the Virgin River cutting down into the red Navajo Sandstone — sculpting as it goes — creating spires, and monuments and temples of sand and stone.

“This really is special,” said Chris, now an international teacher in Berlin, home for a few weeks. “It’s got to rank with floating the Grand Canyon, or hiking the Highline Trail in Glacier.” That’s part of the reason we’re spending our time in Zion; to see all this once again. Climbing up to Angel’s Landing really is a premier experience.”

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

Padre Island is Mecca For Bird Watchers

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Petroglyphs provide mute testimony that sheep have been in Zion through the ages

©Bert Gildart: The evidence is there: bighorns have occupied Zion National Park for at least 1,000 years. Sheep petroglyphs etch the patina of canyon walls and by using various means of dating, scientists know they are ancient.

As one who has been wandering Zion for almost 30 years, I’ve known about the glyphs for decades. But I won’t tell where they are; thoughtless individuals have vandalized many of these archaeological treasure, a reason the Antiquities Act was enacted in the early 1900s.

At any rate, because I have known of their existence, it should not have been a surprise when I rounded a corner to suddenly discover a band of bighorns that were almost as surprised as was I. Quickly they scurried up the face of the Navajo sandstone, but then suddenly stopped. Though startled, the band wasn’t too startled, and moments later, regrouped where they then turned to study my presence.

No longer alarmed, they settled in further, dropping down into a comfortable position, relaxing on their stomachs.

EXTINCT FOR DECADES

Though sheep are in fact an integral part of the Zion landscape, that hasn’t always been the case. Park brochures and knowledge I acquired while writing chapters in a Sierra Club Guide to National Parks reminded me that human activity led to their extinction in this park in the 1950s –almost 40 years after Zion was established as a national park.

Sheep now number over 150 and apparently are quite healthy

And so it remained for almost 30 years, until the park began a reintroduction program. In the early 1970s, scientists brought in 12 bighorns, but from that tiny nucleus herd, their numbers climbed and now, bighorn sheep in Zion number over 150.

The band I had startled and now watched was essentially a ewe lamb group. Following the fall breeding season, rams wander off by themselves, but begin to regroup and in another month, so might be seen with other rams forming what is known as a bachelor herd. I know that from work I did on a book on Mountain Monarchs, Bighorn Sheep.

ADOPT A BIGHORN

Zion National Park continues with its efforts to protect its mountain sheep and has started a program called “Adopt a Bighorn.” By making a contribution you “adopt” a bighorn and in this manner help to insure Zion will always have a healthy population of wild sheep. Managers say that such a herd symbolizes a healthy ecosystem, in this case, a wilderness ecosystem.

A small band of sheep back dropped by Navajo sandstone

Judging from the magnetism Zion exerts on so many visitors, it is a more desirable feature to perpetuate – and is apparently a condition in which we as visitors can assist. You can adopt a bighorn by contacting a sales clerk at the Zion bookstore or by logging onto their website at Zionpark.org.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Amaragosa Opera House

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Joshua Tree National Park still provides dark skies.

©Bert Gildart: Several days ago we departed Anza Borrego and the campsite at Pegleg where we had parked our Airstream for the past three months. During the course of our stay we met wonderful people and enjoyed our explorations of this huge desert park.

Over the course of the next few weeks I’ll most likely be posting a few blogs reflecting  on our stay in this the largest of all of our nation’s contiguous state parks. There’s much about our experiences there that have yet to crystallize.

One of the features that attracted us to Anza Borrego was its night skies; and the small town of Borrego Springs takes great pride in declaring that it is devoted to preserving its night-time environment. We became fascinated with this concept and decided that while heading back home to Montana, we’d make stops at areas claiming a dark-sky status.

VANISHING DARK SKIES

Not many such places are left, but several national park administered areas still remain that way and I’ve written about several to include Organ Pipe and Death Valley.

Although Joshua Tree National Park is surrounded by huge metropolitan areas, nevertheless, it claims a dark-sky status. We camped high in the park at Jumbo Rocks Campground and because late campers were driving through – and because the moon was still up – I waited until 3 a.m. to take my photo.

L to R: Joshua Tree still provides dark skies for those camped at Jumbo Rocks; Chloride Production is a lonely land separating two national park administered areas; Mojave National Preserve.

No problem getting back up as we mature gentlemen have a built-in alarm that needs to be attended to several times at night.

Earlier I had found a spot for our Airstream that offered an ideal foreground. The spot enabled me to set up my tripod immediately outside the trailer and then return inside and read, waiting for the long time exposures to complete their course. I made a one-hour exposure, shown here, and several other short exposures using high-ISO readings. Obviously it was the one-hour exposure that created the lengthy star trails. I may show the other images in subsequent postings for they are also instructive.

MOJAVE NATIONAL PRESERVE

Our next destination was Mojave National Preserve and from previous experience we knew that this desert region offers lands that are incredibly lonely meaning that the possibility for dark skies was great. But on this occasion, although the completely isolated camping was blissful, a thin haze filtered in advertising the one night we had for night photography would not be ideal.

Sun sets over Mojave National Preserve, also offering dark sky potential -- just not this time.

But as photographers know, you go with what you have. In this case, it meant the haze would mute the sun, creating a huge orb which I could further dramatize using an extreme telephoto lens.

DARK SKIES FOREVER

Though lonely lands and dark sky areas still exist they are becoming increasingly difficult to find, and that makes a commentary on our burgeoning human populations. Mostly, these growths have occurred in the past 100 years, and if this growth continues, what will it be like 100 years further down the road?

May lonely lands and dark skies be with us forever.

THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Armed Escort in Organ Pipe

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©Bert Gildart: For Eric Hansen and me the day could not have started out better! About a half hour after departing our camp at Pegleg, we found ourselves driving through a rugged portion of Anza Borrego Desert Park on our way to Indian Hill (also a rugged). Though the sun was just barely peeping over the horizon, as we rounded a  steep curve not far from one of the park’s major passes,  Eric, who is always on the lookout for bighorn sheep, hollered: “Bert! Up there on that cliff.  A ewe and a lamb.”

Distant sighting of young lamb topped day of superlatives at Anza Borrego.

For my Montana friends familiar with sheep biology, mark down February 17. Here ewes give birth in mid February, not early June as they do in Glacier National Park. But the conditions are similar. Both desert bighorns and Rocky Mountain bighorns seek out the most rugged terrain they can find, and this ewe was no different, for the high pass was about as rugged as you can find. Similarly, young seem born with protective camouflage, blending as they do almost perfectly in color with the surrounding rocks.

How do the ewes known to find terrain that so perfectly matches their young? And how did we know this lamb was just born?

Though I can’t answer the first question, the fact that the lamb still retained a shriveling umbilical cord was proof positive. More than likely this tiny lamb was no more than four- to five-days old – if that.

Click to see expanded caption and for larger image.

The photographs I made were all taken from the road and from a distance as well. The pair showed no concern responding to our presence simply by moving behind a creosote bush. We drove on to our day’s objective, which was Indian Hill, a remote section of the park.

CENTURY PLANTS

Our goal was to find a unique set of pictographs, and though we were unsuccessful, we were highly successful in other ways. Several agave plants were in bloom, meaning that a long life is about to end. Though also called “Century Plants,” most likely they grow but 35 to 50 years, finally, putting forth flowers at life’s end. Several had completed their life span and were now – at long last — flowering. Not only were the yellow blossoms gorgeous, but they were attracting bees and hummingbirds, and, so, were serving another function.

Rocks in the Indian Hills area also created interesting patterns, which I photographed. As well a railroad track reminded us that the rocks were once an impediment for those constructing the Carrizo George Railway. Evidence of past construction was manifest and we found a now deteriorating wall that had been built, in part, with explosive cans.

Click to see expanded caption and for larger image.

But the rocks were not an impediment to all, and once served as ancient Indian shelters and as sites for the creation of pictographs. And though we couldn’t find any that’s not all bad for the country was gorgeous, meaning that we have an excuse to return.

And then, of course, there was our rare sighting of the new-born desert bighorn lamb, which really topped the day.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

Gator Drama in Shark Valley

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Bert Gildart: Two years ago I wrote a major story for magazine produced by The Wilderness Society about global warming. At the time I quoted Dr. Erik Beever, one of the premier scientists working on the subject. He was concerned about the effect rising temperatures would have on pika, a tiny member of the rabbit family and one I have posted on previously. Much of his work has been centered on pika in wilderness areas of the Great Basin. Because pika can not tolerate the increasing temperatures associated with global warming he said that the species is like the canary in the coal mine, telling us world temperatures are too high.

A member of the rabbit family whose survival depends on the cold temperatures previously associated with high altitudes.

Beever says that archaeological evidence proves pika have inhabited the Great Basin for the past 40,000 years and that in 1940, scientists cataloged 25 distinct populations in the region. In 1992 Beever began his investigations but found only 19 pika populations. In 2004 subsequent research indicated his 19 had dropped to 17 and that all pika had migrated up about 130 vertical yards.

Despite the fact that he believes pika will most likely be gone from the Great Basin,” the US Fish and Wildlife Service released findings today saying the pika need not be placed on the endangered species list. Though their findings contradict those of some scientists, here is what they had to say.

U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service

“Although the American pika is potentially vulnerable to the impacts of climate change in portions of its range, the best available scientific information indicates that pikas will be able to survive despite higher temperatures. Pikas will have enough suitable high elevation habitat to prevent them from becoming threatened or endangered. As a result, the pika does not meet the criteria for protection under the Endangered Species Act.

“We have completed an exhaustive review of the scientific information currently available regarding the status of the American pika and have analyzed the potential threats to the species,” said Steve Guertin, the Service’s Director of the Mountain-Prairie Region. “Based on this information, we have determined that the species as a whole will be able to survive despite increased temperatures in a majority of its range and is not in danger of extinction in the foreseeable future…

TEMPERATURE SENSITIVITY

“A key characteristic of the American pika is its temperature sensitivity. Pikas cannot tolerate much higher body temperatures than their norm of 104 degrees Fahrenheit. Therefore, the species is found at progressively higher elevations, where cooler temperatures are found, as one moves south through the range of the species.  In Canada, populations occur from sea level to 9,842 feet, but in New Mexico, Nevada, and southern California, populations rarely exist below 8,202 feet.

The pika is like the canary in the coal mine telling us by its demise that world temperatures are critically high.

“Several climate change variables can affect pika populations, including extremely hot or cold days, average summer temperatures, and duration of snow cover.  In general, pika biologists agree that temperatures below the habitat surface, such as in loose rock area crevices, better approximate the conditions experienced by pikas because they rely on subsurface habitat to escape hotter summer daytime temperatures and obtain insulation during the colder winter months. Therefore, surface temperatures may not be as useful as subsurface temperatures for predicting the effects of climate change on pika populations…”

The paper continues, noting that their finding suggest pika will survive in the Great Basin as well as in areas such as Bodie, California and in the hot climates of Craters of the Moon (Idaho) and Lava Beds National Monuments (California). They say that pikas persist at these sites because they reduce activity during hot mid-day temperatures by retreating to significantly cooler conditions under the loose rock areas and perform daily activities during the cooler morning and evening periods. Despite altering their behavior in response to high temperatures, pikas can maintain high birth and low mortality rates.

Obviously there are different theories regarding the future of the pika and although I’m inclined to place more credence in the finding of Mr. Beever, I hope the USFW is correct. Pikas are diminishing in number from Glacier National Park (as well as the park’s glaciers!) as well as from the Great Basin. I also hope enough of these charismatic little creatures survive to ultimately replenish their kind.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Badwater, Where An Entire River Can Disappear

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©Bert Gildart:  The torrential rains, which I mentioned in my last posting – and that lasted for five full days – have finally ceased. They stopped three days ago leaving the ground saturated in a way they’ve not been in years. Mike the mechanic at a local garage said he’d lived here for 20 years, emphasizing “I’ve never seen the equal!”

Trails lead directly from Pegleg into surrounding mountains.

Though the rains have forced most of inside we Pegleggers are an industrious crowd and have found things to do. Charging batteries in the rain has been a problem, forcing us to rely on our generators. To keep them dry we placed generators on elevated blocks of wood beneath the lowered the tailgates of our pickups. To keep the contents in the bed of our pickups dry, we spread tarps over the opening and then Bungeed them in placed so the winds wouldn’t whip them around.

Made comfortable in that manner we then went about our various activities, which wasn’t a problem for me as the seclusion allowed me to work on stories and photographs.

VERBAL INTERCOURSE THAT WAS PROFOUND

But you can’t work all the time, so Janie and I have played cards with Fireman Ted and his wife Carol. Ted and Carol are both great readers and had introduced us to a book called The Road. Authored by Cormac McCarthy the book is listed on Oprah’s Book Club. By the time the rains had arrived we’d all read the profoundly dark master piece, which has a post-apocalyptic setting. None of us could put the book down and the bleak rains seemed to provide the proper setting for much verbal intercourse. Might McCarthy portend the future of mankind?

The rains provided yet more. One dark and bleak night Bruce the lawyer invited us to the VFW for taco night. The club was packed and the mood was so festive that the rains of the evening were themselves drowned out by all the bon home.

Click on each image to see enlarged version and to see extended caption.  L to R: Driving through Slot Mountain, “Wind Caves,” Badlands as seen from Wind Caves.

But now, after enduring such extreme hardships we’re delighted to report that all here at Pegleg have survived – and that all but a few remained. And these people should take note that we no longer view them as true Pegleggers, for they couldn’t tolerate a little inconvenience .

On the other hand we have proven to be more than just fair-weather Pegleggers. We remained, and can report that our Airstream didn’t float away. We’re safe and sound and now out hiking local trails accessed from our RVs and admiring the distant peaks some of which are now covered with snow! (see image of Janie above.)

And now we’re exploring a little more of this incredible park.

CAVES ETCHED BY WINDS

One of the places we’ve long wanted to see is an area accessed through Split Mountain known as Wind Caves. We joined Don the forest economist and his wife Nancy and, using their vehicle, drove about 20 miles to an area of the highway known as the “Texas Dip,” (probably because it is so big) and then on along a dirt road which we soon accessed through a series of immensely slotted canyons. After about an hour, we reached our trailhead and then struck out.

The climb was steep, but the hike worth the effort for, indeed, the area is appropriately named. Below badlands spread out, and off in the distance I saw a couple threading their way through an austere landscape created by hundreds of completely eroded hills. At this point, we were not far from the Mexican border.

MURKY THOUGHTS

A little more hiking and we came to a series of hills that contained caves, arches and windows all of which demanded exploration.  We explored these features then we sat and soaked up the scenery and ate lunch.

Several hours later we retraced our steps, and as Don and Nancy were descending the light was such that it etched the gully washers in a way that dramatized the rains not only of the past few days but also of the eons. Cast against this immense landscape of time and breadth Don and Nancy looked incredibly insignificant, reminding me once again that the universe is big and that we’re small — but hopefully not irrelevant.

Good Lord, I hope we remain rain free for the remainder of our encampment, else how will we Pegleggers ever survive the accretion of such murky thoughts?

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Gators On My Mind

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©Bert Gildart:  Here at Pegleg (located in California’s Anza Borrego Desert State Park), Janie and I experienced another downpour of torrential rains, which  started yesterday about 3 in the afternoon. For over an hour, rain fell in buckets. When the rains did cease about an hour later, we went outside to survey the results, and they were impressive. Up on the hill, waters were literally streaming down the hill in what appeared to be genuine waterfalls. At the base of the hill, several “rivers” converged and then spread out over the campground. In places waters that were four- to six-inches deep engulfed our trailer and we joked about sandbagging and applying for relief funds.

Waters that were two to four inches deep engulfed our trailer.

We joked until we learned that just west of us heavy rains have created mudslides and are forcing people to evacuate their homes. According to a report I read in the Los Angles Times, the foothills to our west have received almost 5 inches of rain since Sunday. Another storm is predicated for today and that according to Department of Public Works Director Gail Farber who was interviewed by the L.A. Times,  will drop another 4 to 8 inches on the area.

MORE RAINS EXPECTED

The official went on to say that the ground is “really saturated right now from the two storms that came through the past two days.” Ms. Farber expressed concern for mountain residents about the storm that is predicted for today.  She said people in some places will be asked to evacuate.

Tentatively, Janie peers outside to watch the rising waters.

The storm is the result of a strong jet stream that is sending a line of storms ashore from the Pacific Ocean. Wet weather is apparently expected to continue through Thursday.

Though we’re obviously not escaping the torrential rains, here at Pegleg we’re about five miles from the mountains, where the brunt of the storm is being experienced. Nevertheless, we’re seeing several inches of water engulfing our trailer all of  which makes for interesting conversations and predictions that the desert will indeed be carpeted this spring with flowers. Several years ago the carpets of desert wildflowers were impressive, and with the rains this could provide an equal.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*The Eyes of the Canyon (about desert bighorn)

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©Bert Gildart:

Dateline Pegleg, America! Our friend Richard is the purveyor of all the news at Pegleg that is important. Making the rounds throughout camp on his well-used  bicycle, he informs everyone who is up: “It’s Monday, January 18,” he heralds.  “What more do you need to know?”

Richard’s news really is news for some out here in California’s Anza Borrego Desert State Park who don’t even seem to know what month it is. Or at least they’re confused, and that should not be as surprising as it might seem. Some of us are from the north, such as Montana and Canada. Others, all the way from Vermont, and to be sitting outside in shirt sleeves and shorts in weather that is actually warm in January (or is it May?) is, well, just different.

For us, campfires have added a new dimension to the Pegleg adventure, enabling us to share life experiences.

Pegleggers, we think, are an interesting group coming from all different walks of life. Right now there are about twenty of us, and we represent a variety of backgrounds, sharing in common several facts. All of us are a little on the cheap side, enjoying the fact that we’re saving about $600 a month by “boondocking,” meaning that we’re pretty much self-contained. We also share the fact that most of us are either self employed or retired. Here’s a quick breakdown:

DIVERSE GROUP

Bruce was a lawyer; Ted a fireman. Don has a PhD and worked as an economist for the Forest Service and served as a college professor. He’s now retired and he and Nancy travel in their Airstream to such places as Padre Island (Padre Island2, Padre Island3). Others we’ve met here at Pegleg include an airline mechanic, a plumber, a musician, and several teachers. As I say, Pegleg hosts people from all walks of life, and we’ve not met a single person whose company we don’t enjoy.

Over half in the group have been married more than once so some share pasts that require a little digging, but all eventually want to tell their story, and some are very spicy. We suspect some of the stories are edited for the audience. Others in Pegleg are widows or widowers, who acknowledge that at this stage of their lives they don’t want to be alone, and are very grateful they’ve found someone with whom they can bond.

But regardless of their past what all Pegleggers seems to share is a sense of curiosity and adventure – and some have lived exceedingly adventurous lives – and believe they’re still doing so.

Bruce once sailed the Pacific, and mostly by himself. Richard sailed, too, but generally as a member of a small crew on someone else’s boat. During those years, sailing adventures took them both throughout the Pacific, and in Richard’s case, to Australia and to New Zealand. Both have weathered “Perfect Storms.”

We enjoy hearing these stories and all seem to delight in hearing ours. We all believe that RVing as full-timers or as full-time part timers (nine twelfth-ers we like to say) continues the sense of curiosity and adventure and all of us can tally off remote parts of North America to which we’ve traveled. For instance, in the past few years we’ve been to such farflung places as Nova Scotia and the Dry Tortugas.

Speaking from a very personal point of view, photography remains a huge part of the adventures that Janie and I enjoy, and on that note, I’ll provide a few thoughts on the posted image.

PHOTO NOTES

Those who are not familiar with photography might think that the fire is providing the sum total of all the light used for lighting Don, Janie and Nancy, but that is not the case. Once again I’ve used my two SB-800s and have covered the face of the units with the red gel filter that came with each. So covered the strobes add a fire-like glow to the scene, and couldn’t be accomplished without the gel. Strobes were placed on tiny stands between the fire and the fire watchers.

All of us think the evening fire we’ve enjoyed this year helps to make Pegleg. Last year we had no fire and cold from the desert nights did little to encourage us to remain outside. Ted, the retired fireman from Canada, and I have been getting the wood, using his small portable chain saw and the back end of my truck for hauling. Now we’re warm and that encourages the sharing of life adventures in the evening.

STORM BREWING

Though we’re all self-contained, Janie and I weren’t so completely independent last year. That’s when we headed to the Slabs ( fascinating in itself) and had “Solar Mike” tie in another solar panel. It has served us and has continued to do so while we’ve been at Pegleg this year, but things are about to change. Heavy clouds are moving in and solar panels, of course, require sun. But that may not happen for the next few days, as several rain storms are forecast.

Rain in the desert? It happens every now and then, and when it happens, it paves the way for wonderful displays of flowers. That, of course, is weeks away, and in the meantime we’ll just bide our time, hoping Richard will continue to make his daily bike rides throughout Pegleg, keeping us informed of the day – and even the month.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

Year’s Favorite Photos

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Departing Smuggler's Canyon

©Bert Gildart: Smuggler’s Canyon overlook provides what many say is one of Anza Borrego’s most scenic vistas, which it certainly could be. It is reached following a hike of about a mile and a half, the last hundred yards of which threads through a maze of boulders and steep-sided walls. Historians caution, however, that Smuggler’s Canyon may be a misnomer, noting that smugglers could never use the area as there is simply no reasonable access.

In a round about way Bill and Polly Cunningham, friends of ours from Montana, explain as much in their their book Best Easy Day Hikes, Anza-Borrego.

They say that when you reach the overlook there is an abrupt drop-off above Smuggler’s Canyon, “so keep an eye,” they advise, “on overly adventurous members in your hiking party.”

The drop-off they’re referring to is also known as a “dryfall,” created by water, but which runs only following exceptional downpours. But they’re right, the drop off is substantial, descending about 150 feet. And because it does so abruptly people wonder how it could have ever been used successfully by smugglers?

From our readings of Marshall South’s various entries, we believe he was aware of the overlook as he spoke of other aspects of the vista, which includes the old Vallecito Stagecoach station all of which is back dropped by the rugged peaks of the Tierra Blanca, Jacumba, and Coyote mountains.

SPECTACULAR PICTOGRAPHS

Though the vista is worth a hike in itself initially we were drawn to this area because of the pictographs, which take you back hundreds of years. Pictographs differ from Petroglyphs in that the former are created from pigments while the latter by chipping and scraping. Both were, of course, created by Native Americans of the time, meaning these works of art date back hundreds of years.

According to Lowell and Diana Lindsay, in the informative book The Anza-Borrego Desert Region, the pictographs you’ll see along this trail are unusual for “their well executed red and yellow symbolic designs consisting of interlaced elements in a diamond-chain motif.”

Click on each image to see larger version and extended caption.

Janie and I have seen Petroglyphs and pictographs in many areas of the Southwest and concur that these images are extremely well preserved. No one has carved their name over them or destroyed them with bullet holes as have so many in other parts of country.

PHOTOGRAPHIC CHALLENGE

For photographers the images could represent a challenge, and I find most of the time they photograph best with strobe lights. Specifically, I use two, one of which Janie holds. The other is on my Nikon D300 and I set my SB-800s so the daylight exposure is about one stop less than the setting for my strobes.

View from dryfalls of Vallecito Stagecoach stop and Vallecito Mountains, all of which is spectacular.

But you may not be concerned about photography, and if simply seeing beautiful country is your goal, this hike is a winner. Simultaneously, it exposes you to Rock Art and so to a bit of America’s earliest history.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

Ranger Overboard

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©Bert Gildart: The trail over Alcoholic Pass is a good route to follow in early January, for it twists and turns, “like a drunk,” is the legendary association, so serving to remind some of New Years resolutions. (Are you keeping yours?)

Alcoholic Trail twists and turns, and is here seen dropping down on to Coyote Creek, explored by de Anza in 1774.

Diana Lindsay provides a springboard for yet other thoughts, writing in her book Anza Borrego A – Z that the trail might have been so named because of the drinking habits of several early settlers, specifically the Clark brothers and Cod Beaty. Apparently these men made extensive use of the trail (often inebriated) and so their names are historically linked with the trail, a reminder that we must continuously tread our trails through life with circumspect. That doesn’t mean, however, that I’m quite ready to give up cocktail hour around our evening campfire at Pegleg, for it’s now a tradition after a long day hiking, particularly following a rewarding but vigorous hike in California’s Anza Borrego Desert State Park.

With those thoughts in mind, yesterday, I joined Don and Nancy Dennis, our Airstream traveling companions, and made the short drive from our campsite here in Pegleg along the old Anza route to the Alcoholic Pass trailhead. The rocky path climbs through a forest of desert cacti to include various types of cholla, mesquite, and ocotillo.

Click on each image to see larger version and to see extended caption.

L to R: Don and Nancy, boulders at Alcoholic Pass, back lighting dramatizes ocotillo cacti.

The trail continues to climb until it reaches Alcoholic Pass, which is spectacular because it peers over several valleys and several mountain ranges. It also peers over one of the most spectacular boulder fields you’ll ever see.

SURROUNDED BY MOUNTAINS

From our vantage at the pass in the Coyote Mountains we could look east and see Clark Valley and the Santa Rosa Mountains. Looking the other direction we could see the San Ysidro Mountains, and then, between us and the mountains, Coyote Creek, the creek along which Juan Bautista de Anza rode in 1774. Indeed, this trail offers immense historical overviews.

There is a register at the saddle forming the pass, which Nancy signed. The trail continues and we followed it down, realizing that we didn’t have time to invest in a hike that would require about seven more miles, for the day was growing late – and so we turned around. But there were compensation for the light was casting lovely shadows along the aforementioned mountains.

To some the blossoms of the ocotillo look like tiny torches.

Equally as important for my photographic ventures were the ocotillo, which seemed so vibrant. Light on the flowers was soft, something I generally can create only with artificial strobe lighting. Over the past few years I’ve posted several blogs on lighting with multiple strobes, and on the ocotillo plant, and how it blooms only following rain storms. Obviously, there has been much rain in recent months as the blossoms are now radiant.

TINY TORCHES

According to Lindsay it is this very radiance that might have given rise to their name. She quotes Mark Jorgensen, the former superintendent of Anza Borrego and an expert on sheep and desert ecology. Years ago I met the man and quoted him extensively in my book on Mountain Sheep.

Referring, however, to the ocotillo blossoms, Jorgensen says the Spanish/Mexican word ocote is a type of pine, which when lit explodes into a torch. Sometimes when the ocotillo is loaded with blossoms and the species is backlit you can easily make the association, for it appears as though the branches of the towering cacti are laden with tiny torches.

Lindsay also says Indians harvested the blooms and that the seeds made a flavored bitter-tasting drink.

Referring to the trail, Lindsay also says that the trail saved settlers six miles of trudging around the Coyote Mountains. If you were a settler, such as the Clark brothers or Cod Beaty on a mission to the local tavern in Borrego Springs, that could have been important. And so, as I made the final decent from Alcoholic Pass I was reminded that we’d soon have to make the momentous decision of whether there will or will not be a cocktail hour.

But why shouldn’t there be? I’m not one to make resolutions I can’t keep.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*By Their Beaks Shall Ye Know Them

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©Bert Gildart: “It was probably a little something like this,” said Bill Doyle, who has become a student of the years Marshal South, Tanya, and their three children spent atop Ghost Mountain in what is now Anza Borrego Desert State Park.   “Marshal,” continued Bill, “would step outside Yaquitepec (name for their home),  and sit on this very rock. He was trying to live off the land while developing a literary following. He hoped for peace in a chaotic world and he would contemplate his place in the universe. Some say he never found it,  but he gave it a good try. ”

"Let my house be a house of Love and Understanding... Let its roof be the arch of the sky and its music the songs of the birds and of the wind and of the harps of the rain."

Because of their lifestyle (also see: Brokeback Mountain or Ghost Mountain…) those in the surrounding communities criticized them. Sometimes the Souths went naked or they dressed in animal skins.

They built their home by hand and lived there from 1932 to 1947. To survive, they collected water in cisterns, collected plants, such as agave for food – just as did the Indians – and they penned their stories and their poems from this remote setting. Marshal in particular, wrote about desert life and desert survival, though in what may have been a romanticized manner.

IT WILL BE A GOOD YEAR

Later, Marshal added painting and pottery to his artistic repertoire.

As always, we cheer when we find that manifestations of their life remain, enough so, at any rate, to build on what we know. “I think it symbolic that we’re here the first of January,” said Bill, “for one of Marshal’s very first stories for Desert Life Magazine was made in January, January of 1940. He said that “the desert is full of mystery and surprise. No two years are ever they same… He wrote in his story that “It will be a good year.”

Bill, pointing to mark on the sun dial representing north at Yaquitepec, home of Marshal and Tanya South for 17 years.

Bill and I (Janie and I too) have both visited the home many times, but on this outing we were doing so late in the evening, hoping to create images that would recall a life that is fading and may be all too soon forgotten. We both thought that the deteriorating homestead back dropped by a sky full of stars would create the ephemeral image we thought appropriate, but because of an unexpected cloud layer, that was not to be.

Still, the evening turned out to be a splendid one, essentially because of the thoughts we shared about this controversial family, and because of the images we did make.

ERODING STRUCTURE

We began by making images of the eroding home, lamenting the fact that so much had deteriorated. We found the cisterns they used to collect water. We found the bed they’d shared for 17 years but looking sadly a bit more dilapidated than when we saw it a year ago.

Their lives as a couple ended with sadness, but for awhile, they had mastered their environment and had apparently enjoyed domestic harmony, for they had three children, conceived at Yaquitepec.

As we cast around we found the sun dial Marshal had erected, and with close scrutiny Bill thought he found a mark that represented north. “I think,” said Bill, “I know where north is.” Then, with his index finger, he pointed to a fading scratch that seemed aligned with north. Bill went on to say that from his reading he believed Marshal and Tanya had constructed their home so that the door  would face the southern sky, probably to draw in more winter sun.

Bill continued to walk around returning a few minutes later saying he thought he’d found Marshal’s kiln, and wanted to show it to me. Though primitive, the piled rocks could easily have accommodated a pot about the size of one the Indians might have used, adding to our convictions. As well, we found burned wood that now appeared like so much charcoal .

We both felt it appropriate to be reminiscing about the Souths first week in January 1940, a time Marshal recalled in one of his many articles for Desert Magazine with much optimism.

Agave, one of the plants used by Native Americans -- and by the Souths -- as a staple.

“It will be a good year,” wrote Marshal, saying that he was quoting Tanya.

DEER MICE

In his January article he also spoke of the coyotes, owls, the agave, and the tiny deer mice, which we soon heard scurrying all around. In his January entry, he wrote about the tiny creatures in a way I could appreciate for once I lived with them too, and knew they had an interesting life history. Wrote Marshal: “And the white-footed mice are always with us. There is something amiable and companionable about a white-footed mouse. Long experience with us has given them confidence. They slip in and out in the evenings like cheery little grey gnomes; squatting on the edge of the great adobe stone and nibbling tidbits…”

That was something I could relate to from my days years ago at Glacier National Park’s Cut Bank Ranger Station (probably one of the reasons I empathize with the couple), and as Bill and I sat on a rock at the South’s and listened quietly, we could hear the tiny microtids scampering around. Later, when the moon rose it provided adequate light  for us to see them. Quietly, they’d move, stopping every now, “while their big, beady black eyes watch us attentively,” as Marshal concluded. It was a condition I knew a little something about.

Eroding ruins of Yaquitepec, home of Marshal and Tanya South for 17 years.

Before long the sun dipped low in the mountains creating an incredible sunset (above), which I photographed through the arch that once served as the entry to their home. Adobe walls still stood, but the bed had collapsed. Though we stayed until it was pitch dark, and though the clouds did diffuse a bit, the skies never cleared adequately to create the type of night I wanted and had so successfully experimented with in Death Valley. No matter, for time spent atop Ghost Mountain in January bodes well, and we agreed, that our successful night might bode for “a good year.”

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Trailer Trash

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Hellhole Canyon trail leads to a palm oasis

©Bert Gildart: The last few days have seen the arrival of a number of our Airstream friends from various parts of the country. The last couple to show up were Don and Nancy of Vermont, who arrived late yesterday afternoon in a howling wind storm. Just prior to their arrival were Bill and Larry of San Diego; Alex and Charon, who pretty much full time in their 1966 Airstream; and finally, Rich, Eleanor and Emma. You’ve heard me speak often of Rich Luhr, who publishes Airstream Life Magazine.

All of us have descended on Anza Borrego Desert State Park for the obvious reason that it is warm, and because there are so many activities in which to engage in the winter.

And, so, it was only logical that those of us who could spare the time would strike out for a long hike along one of the park’s more spectacular trails, in this case Hellhole Canyon.

Mountain lions had been reported but that didn’t motivate us, rather it was the notion of seeing palm trees and perhaps even the blossoming of some of the desert’s very first flowers.  The hike didn’t disappoint.

WHAT’S IN A NAME

Then, too, we wanted to recall a bit about this canyon, which has an interesting history, both from the human perspective and perhaps, too, from the perspective of etymology.

As we all know, words evolve, and that is perhaps the reason this canyon goes by the name Hellhole, rather than as two words. Originally, you imagine some cowboy saying, “That canyon is sure one ‘hell’ of a ‘hole.’”

That could be what happened here. Years ago ranchers used the canyon as a reprieve from roaring winds that whipped off the surrounding mountains. The mountains also provided a respite from the heat and all went well until they had to retrieve their cattle from amidst the cholla, ocotillo, fishhook cactus, and beavertail cactus. No doubt, their impression deteriorated–and can’t you just hear an hear an old cowboy saying, “Man, that hole is sure hell on me and my hoss’.”

HELLHOLE

With time someone would recall again the potential conditions and say, “Got to go to Hell-hole today, the cattle are still there.” Eventually, the hyphen was dropped until the concept became a single thought as in, “Drive the cattle into Hellhole for the spring. We’ll hope they stay in that God-forsaken canyon and don’t wander down into Mexico.”

Palm Oasis means water, even if just a trickle. That's Charon on the far right.

Last night we appreciated a bit of what they were saying as winds gusted up to 40 miles per hour.  Our hike, however, was ideal, leaving me an image of a kinder and much more gentle canyon. Along the way we saw several of the huge-eared desert hares as well as the sign of coyotes, and probably a bobcat.

And then there was the oasis of palms and maidenhair fern, with the stream that flowed quietly through them, and we all concluded that on a hot summer day, this could be anything but a hellhole.

WHAT PROMPTS OCOTILLO TO BLOOM

As well, we found several ocotillo bushes and one was producing flowers that were in full bloom. Ocotillo is an interesting species, one that produces leaves only following rain. If subsequent rains don’t follow the first, the leaves curl and become dormant. However, if more rains follow, the plant produces flowers, such as the ones we stopped to admire yesterday.

Two strobe lights work best for closeup details of flowers. Ocotillo blossoms suggest a recent rain storm.

To dramatize the flowers I needed two strobes, which I always carry. I then set the  camera to manual mode, enabling me to overpower the light from the sun. To do that I set the shutter speed to 250th of a second and the aperture to f-22 or less.  Look through the view finder of your camera and you’ll see the dial (at least on the Nikon D300) shows an under exposure of about three stops. Without the strobes your picture would be mighty black, but the strobes are set correctly, and they illuminate the subject. However, you’ll need an additional set of hands to hold one of the strobes, which Bill volunteered to provide. The results from this technique never fall to impress me.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Hey, It’s a Gator

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©Bert Gildart: My wife has the lead photo in the current issue of MotorHome Magazine, a publication produced by the Affinity Group. The image reminds the two of us what a wonderful time we had about 10 months ago in Padre Island, located in south Texas.

Kakaying Pacifc waters of Padre Island, lead photo in MotorHome by Jane Gildart

In the winter, the park host hundreds of species of wintering birds, making it an ideal spot to vacation for those who enjoy watching birds. It is also, as Janie’s photo suggests, an ideal place to test – or to develop your skills as kayakers. The waters are warm, so if you dump, there’s little damage to anything other than your pride.

At the moment, as our last blog informs, we’re camped at Peg Leg, an area that offers free camping in Anza Borrego Desert State Park. We’re surrounded on three sides by mountains and this morning, a storm blowing in from the Pacific produced a series of rainbows. Janie peered out the window and pointed it out. Since I was up and dressed I was the one who grabbed a camera and ran out, setting up just as the rainbow appeared to be at its most intense.

Rainbow early this morning as seen from just outside our Airstream, Anza Borrego Desert State Park

Of course rainbows, though beautiful, are often harbingers of foul weather, and that is what it appears we’re about to get.

A good day to remain inside our Airstream and work on various indoor projects.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Family Fun In Glacier’s Winter Wonderland

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©Bert Gildart: Here in Grants, New Mexico, we’re discovering that at Blue Spruce Campground we’re meeting the salt of the earth, and learning that, as usual, virtually all are the nicest people in the world.  (Also read: Farmer’s Advice) In this case Janie met a “drifting rodeo cowboy,” and later related the story to me of her most  “intimate relationship,” which developed immediately.

NATURE NOTES: Scientist say porcupines don't hibernate, but you couldn't prove it by me. Tapping on the tree's trunk, this guy (which I photographed last week) didn't even lift his head.

Janie was washing clothes in the campground’s laundry when she overhead the conversation between the owner and the cowboy. The cowboy, whose name we later learned was James, was asking about campground rates, saying he was from Tennessee but would be returning in several months for an extended tour at the hospital and would be driving an RV.

“I’ve been doing a lot of stitching,” said the cowboy, to which the owner responded after sizing him up, “Oh, you mean on clothing?”

“No, responded,” Cowboy James. “In the ER.”

That’s when Janie piped in. “Are you a doctor?” she asked.

“No,” he said, “I’m a nurse… See,” he laughed, “I’ve got my knife right here.” He then asked why she wanted to know?

Janie then  told him about some recent surgery on her arm and how she needed to have the stitches removed. “You could do it yourself,” he said, and when Janie said “No way,” he said, “Well, I could do it.”

Next thing I knew Janie opened the door to our Airstream and introduced me to Cowboy James, who was attired in a bandanna, tall black hat, blue jeans, denim shirt, and down-at-the-heel boots.

“He’s going to take my stitches out,” exclaimed Janie. The cowboy then asked Janie if she had any rubbing alcohol, which we didn’t, so he said, “Mouth wash will work just fine.” Then he set out to work with a pair of  scissors from our kitchen drawer, informing Janie that if she fainted he’d give mouth to mouth resuscitation, but would first  have to take out his false teeth (lost in a rodeo) and his chaw of snuff.

“Can’t do that,” he said.

“Oh my god, “ said Janie, “I won’t faint.”

Cowboy James stayed around after removing the stitches and as our visit with him progressed we learned he tuned into some of the very same sources of entertainment that we did. He loved Baxter Black, whose humorous commentaries about western life can be heard each Saturday morning on Public Radio. James said he’d like to be Baxter Black. We exchanged cards and told him we hoped we’d see him again.

As I say, we meet the nicest people in trailer parks and my only regret is that I didn’t take a photo of him “at work.” With his long handle-bar mustache, Stetson hat and Tony Lama Boots he made quite a figure.  Most importantly,  he kept the residuals of snooce in his mouth the entire time he was in our Airstream.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*Snowy Owls are Ghost of the North

*Plus — Global Warming and an animal that does hibernate, the marmot

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