©Bert Gildart:  If there is a boulder field in Joshua Tree or one of the other national parks that has a greater “wow” factor  than does this one,  I can’t recall it.

We saw this immense scattering or rocks while hiking in Anza Borrego Desert State Park’s Indian Hill country.  This field of rock stretched for half a mile, and if you look closely at the associated photograph, you’ll see some of the rocks are rounded while others assume a more elongated configuration.

What happened?

I am not a geologist but after seeing this pile of rocks, this “Brobdingnagian landscape” as one author called it — referring to Gulliver’s travels (by Jonathan Swift) through the land of giants – I had to buy several books and try to recall college courses.

Boulder field in Anza Borrego that may blow your mind.

CLICK FOR LARGER IMAGE AND TO BETTER SENSE THE MAGNITUDE

Synthesizing information from a geology book authored by Park Ranger Paul Remeika, my understanding is that about 100 million years ago various forces pushed a molten mass to the earth’s surface and into the overlying sedimentary rock.  Depositions of these sediments preceded this molten mass by millions of years and were laid down from materials transported by inland seas.

As the granite connected with the pre-existing sedimentary rock it solidified and then crystalized, which tends to set up areas of weakness.  These areas take the form of “joints,” or horizontal and vertical fracture lines.  With time the process of erosion further weakens the joints and they fragment into huge granitic rock masses.  Wind, rain, freezing and thawing further modify their appearance whereupon elongated rocks become smaller and more rounded.

Similar processes have occurred in other areas of the park such as at Culp Valley.  Particularly impressive were the fields of boulders I saw several weeks ago off the trail and above Alcoholic Pass.

But nothing I’ve ever seen seems to match the Brobdingnagian landscape near Indian Hill, which simply blew my mind.

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AIRSTREAM TRAVELS THREE YEARS AGO:

*Desert Five Spot

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No decimal points here.

©Bert Gildart: There are no decimal points in the picture of numbers on my bike’s odometer, and please don’t interpret the posting as one of simple vanity, for there’s information associated with the mileage numbers that might be of value to readers.

Simply said, biking can lower blood pressure. I know.  Just a few months ago mine was approaching dangerously high levels. That’s something I’ve never had to worry about before, and the doctor’s advice was to find something I enjoyed and then do it at least four to five times a week.

“Keep on with the ‘heroic’ weekend activities,” said my doctor, “but make exercise a daily component of your life.” Adding, “It’s more important as you get older.”

And so, about three months ago I bought a state of the art road bike (I’ve also enjoyed mountain biking here), and with it have been following the doctor’s advice down here in Anza Borrego State Park. But, now, because this is intended to be a posting about biking, let me give you some specifics.

NOT CHEAP

First, biking, the kind  that retains enthusiasm, is not cheap.  I bought my road bike from Bikes Direct, an on-line store recommended to me by a friend who flirts with cycling professionalism. Some say I lucked out, that one needs to be properly sized. But I disagree, and do so because I followed the on-line instructions carefully, and because I had a good friend who knew his stuff.

I paid close to $1,600 for my Motobecane, but was told that I was almost doubling my value by ordering on-line.

My LeChampion Motobecane road bike is carbon fiber and it weighs 15.5 pounds.  It’s not an entry level bike but neither is it a Lance Armstrong bike, which probably costs over $5,000.  But it is a bike intended to sustain enthusiasm, because you can “Just cruise along.”  When I first started I was averaging about 13 mph, but now average about 19.

SPANDEX—BUT OF COURSE!

Of course, once you make the initial investment, you’ll then need a good helmet (better to look like a mushroom than wind up like one), good padded gloves, various types of clothing (Spandex?  Yes, I’ve got a pair), padded shorts, color coordinated socks – and a good pair of cleated riding shoes.

Motobecane bike ordered from Bikes Direct. Logos clearly visible by enlarging image.

Cleated shoes snap into the pedals and enable you to power on the upstroke as well as on the down stroke.

Of course you’ll need a bit of practice learning to break free from the pedals, and the advice given me was to find a nice soft field of grass, and practice there, as you’ll most like take a few falls before learning the technique.  I did!

Complementary gear will most likely cost another $300, but what’s your health worth?

Next, of course, you need to find a bike-friendly area, and my home near Bigfork comes close, though it is not perfect.  Ninety five percent of the drivers back home go out of their way to accommodate cyclist, but the other 5% drive with fire in their eyes and a determination to run bikers off the road.

CYCLING FANATICISM

Not so in Borrego Springs, where it seems as though there are as many bike riders as there are motorists.  Here, there are riding clubs of various types, to include a tandem bike club.  There are long-distance riding clubs.

And, so, Janie and I have found a haven for the winter activities we enjoy, and the bottom line for me is that my blood pressure is now like that of someone 30 years my junior, making my investment seem to have been a wise on.

One thousand miles?  Sure many down here double and even triple that, but I’ve reached my objectives, and suspect some would say I’ve become a fanatic.

I don’t mind.

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AIRSTREAM TRAVELS THREE YEARS AGO:

*My Years Favorite Photos

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©Bert Gildart:  Though I am working on a book about Montana, the door to our Airstream is wide open allowing me to peer through the screen and maintain a vigil for migrating tarantulas.  Late November and early December is their mating season, so the prospect could be good. I have never seen one in the wild, but that could be because we’ve never been here so early.  Mind you, not everyone around me is enthusiastic about this prospect, but as a bonafied desert rat, such an event will be even more satisfying than knowing that the Steelers are playing in the Super bowl.

SOLAR POWERED

At the moment, Janie and I are housed in our Airstream in a barren spot of Anza-Borrego Desert State Park known as Peg Leg. Once again, this may not be a satisfying experience for everyone, and I hesitate to say anything good about the area for fear more people will show up.

At Peg Leg solar panels are a must

For us, Peg Leg has come to symbolize peace, some freedom and a place where people seem to live and let live.  We’ll be here for several months and because of some breakdown (that’s what it has to be!) in the economic system, camping here is free, but to enjoy the area and to not piss off one’s neighbors, one must have solar panels. We have six, two that are portable, and four on top of our Airstream.  As well, we have four batteries in our trailer.

KEEPING BUSY – NO PROBLEM

Other than work, Janie and I find much to occupy ourselves. We read and watch old movies powered by our inverter.  As well we hike, ride our bicycles and explore a multitude of features left by the historic people who preceded us (Peg Leg is one).  We also enjoy evening get-togethers ‘round a fire and then socializing with people whom we have known over the years.

Most surrounding us are now gone, but we're here for the long term

We were delighted to see that Ted and Carol of British Columbia were back and are looking forward to Don and Nancy of Vermont showing up. Mike the Mechanic is here, too, and several years ago he helped to demystify a life with solar panels.

THE ANAL SPHINCTER

As well, we watch for tarantulas and scorpions and publicize such creatures whenever we find one.  We hope their presence will keep the neer-do-wells away. Though we don’t see many showing up here, we do get ‘em.  One such man ran his humongous generator non-stop  ’round the clock, flew his model airplane (against all rules), and built a fire directly on the ground, which is also against the rules.  Before leaving, the man informed me that I was a “poopy kind of person.”  In turn, I informed him that he was a “First Class Anal Sphincter.”

That’s the kind of person I hope will be intimidated by the prospect of seeing a tarantula.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*Bosque del Apache

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©Bert Gildart: Though Kevin Bacon and Meryl Streep may have navigated Kootenai Falls in the movie “River Wild,” few others have successfully run the rapids.  From a point just above the falls the river drops at a rate of 90 feet per mile.  If a floater survives the rapids, they must then contend with the falls, which drops 30 feet at its most extreme.

Some have attempted to kayak the falls and been successful, but not all.

Early explorers recognized the dangers inherent in the falls and choose to portage.  In 1808, the upper end of the falls stopped David Thompson and four other men traveling in a large canoe, at which they decided to portage.  Fifteen trips were required to pack equipment around the falls, each of which took one and a half hours.

SOME OF MONTANA’S FIRST EXPLORERS

Thirty years later, Father Pierre DeSmet, a Jesuit Missionary, arrived at the same conclusion, though his choices were limited as he was progressing up the river rather than traveling down.  DeSmet took eight hours to journey around the falls, mentioning in his journals that he made the crossing in a quadrapedal position, meaning he was crawling on all fours.

Perhaps the most challenging aspect of visiting the falls is crossing the bridge; Kootenai River creates a warm micro-climate that speeds transition from flowers to berries, as in this Oregon Grape.

Today, thanks to creation of a Kootenai Falls County Park, established in 1991, all aspects of this beautiful falls can be enjoyed.  To look into the mouth of the falls, modern-day explorers will have to cross a swinging bridge, and that may be the most challenging aspect of the outing. But the rewards are immense.

ANCIENT ROCKS

Kootenai River flows through a narrow gorge engulfed by ledges of ancient sedimentary rock.  Rocks date from the Precambrian era and are 1.5 billion years old. Once they formed part of a great inland sea and today preserve ancient blue-green stromatolites, still visible as concentric rings.

Today, the falls are one of the main attractions in the Troy/Libby area, and a challenge to river rafters and kayakers.  Several have successfully kayaked the falls – but others have attempted – and failed.

One of the major attractions in the Troy/Libby area

And now a head’s up.  Janie and I will be joining other Airstream friends for a six-day float down one of Montana’s Wild and Scenic River. We will drive to Fort Benton, spend one night in the Grand Union Hotel and then the next day launch canoes into the Missouri River.  This is the same section about which Captain Meriwether Lewis waxed so eloquent.  When we return, we will be posting images and blogs about our journey. The float provides much beauty, and glad to say, none of the near impossible challenges provided by Kootenai Falls.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*Klondike Gold Field

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©Bert Gildart: Almost the moment we stepped onto a stone stairway that would take us deeper into the Lewis and Clark Caverns, the lights went out.  Few had head lamps, so our descent was spooky. Janie and I both grabbed hard to the railing, and tried to maintain our balance as we descended the slippery stairs.

Laurie Koepplin, our tour guide and an employee for the Montana Department of Fish Wildlife and Parks, joked, explaining we were experiencing conditions similar to two ranchers who saw the caverns in 1892.  “Imagine,” she suggested, “that all you had was candlelight.”

Deep in Lewis and Clark Caverns

Though most found the conditions intriguing, the slippery rock and tight space concerned one individual who elected to turn around. Coincidentally, we had reached “Decision Rock,” a point at which guides customarily  ask visitors if they’re apprehensive.  “Everyone OK?” queried Koepplin.  “Nothing to be ashamed of. You’ll get a full refund if you need to go back.” Despite the darkness only one person turned back.

ADVENTURE IN THE DARK

Our adventure in the dark was short lived, and soon power was restored.  Picking up from her introduction, which included information about the Townsend Big Eared Bats flying overhead, Laurie explained that though Lewis and Clark passed nearby, they never mentioned the caverns in their journals.  “Most likely,” she said, “it’s because they never saw them.”

Though Indians knew of the caverns, the two ranchers became aware of them during a November hunting trip.  Cold air had flushed out the warm air, creating a funnel of steam that stirred the men’s curiosity.  No such funnel occurred in the summer when Lewis and Clark passed through the area.  What’s more the “discovery tunnel” is small and is located at a relatively high elevation, making the caverns unique.  “Most caverns,” said Koepplin, “are down lower and tend to run more horizontally than do these.”

MONTANA’S FIRST STATE PARK

Eventually entrepreneurs began offering tours into the caverns, but in 1908, the federal government assumed management, and then, in 1935, the caverns became Montana’s first state park.  As a state park, sophisticated tours developed — similar to the one we joined yesterday.

Darci and Rob Smith of Kansas ascend into a main cavern

Our tour was several hours long and as we continued our descent, the formations seemed to become more and more spectacular.  As we progressed, Koepplin pointed out stalactites and stalagmites — those pointed columns of rock that either ascend or descend vertically.  We saw ponds of water refracting colors that appeared brilliant in the artificial lighting, and we saw formations that appeared like popcorn, flowstone and “cave bacon.”

Though the caverns are the main attraction of the park, other features exist, and we have signed up for several nights of camping. We want to hike the park’s trails, and watch as lighting dramatizes the beautiful Jefferson River, up which Lewis and Clark traveled so many years ago.

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THIS TIME LAST THREE YEARS AGO:

*Global Warming

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©Bert Gildart: “It is the largest brook trout I’ve ever caught in this part of Montana,” said Chuck Robbins. “Maybe not the longest, but certainly the heaviest.  I think it may go three pounds.”

Chuck Robbins, guiding in and around the Big Hole River for over a decade.

For the past few days Janie and I have been touring Big Hole River country with Chuck and Gail Robbins, good friends whom we have know for almost a decade.  The couple lives in Dillon, which is the small town in the southwestern part of the state where Chuck bases himself as a fishing guide.  Because the Big Hole is such a fabled fishing river, I have been anxious to learn all I can about the area and would be hard pressed to find a more knowledgeable couple – or a better guide than Chuck.

STILL REMOTE

Because the river has been so high for this time of year, we have been bidding our time making short driving trips and have reconfirmed our convictions that this is a beautiful part of the state.  Dotted with but a few small towns such as Wisdom, Divide, and Jackson the area remains some of the state’s most undeveloped country.  At times the area can be brutally cold and extremely hot, and that may be the country’s salvation, preventing it from such ungodly over development as is now happening in other parts of the country.

L to R: Art Bivens Conehead Pumpkin Woolly Bugger; brook trout; Chuck Robbins with largest brookie he has caught in Montana.

The country is high and is surrounded by lofty mountains such as the Pioneers and Beaverheads. It is cut by the 7400 foot-high Big Hole Pass. Add to that the Big Hole River, and this becomes some of the state’s most intriguing country, particularly because of its fishing.

According to Chuck who has made precise map measurements, the Big Hole flows for 188 miles. It begins near Idaho at Skinner Lake and finally empties in the Jefferson at Twin Bridges, Montana.

NOT JUST A WOLLY BUGGER

Because of the high water, Chuck felt we should float a 15 miles upper section between Fish Trap to the East Bank of the Fishing Access Site.  I was particularly anxious because we were still finding salmon flies in the bushes. Occasionally they’d take to the air and then hit the water, causing trout to go mad.  Though the waters were unusually high and murky for this time of year, I made my first tentative casts with much anticipation, and was rewarded almost immediately when several small brookies hit the Mepps spinner I had attached to my outfit. It was not, however, until we stopped near a small feeder stream that I finally landed one.  But it was small, and nothing like the one Chuck caught later in the day.

Chuck , who was also manning the paddles, did little fishing until we stopped near Deep Creek,  a point about midway along the river.  Here, several more feeder streams entered the Big Hole and Chuck began by affixing what looked like a “Woolly Bugger” to his line. Chuck, who is thorough, said that the fly was most properly called the Art Bivens Conehead Pumpkin Woolly Bugger, “After,” Chuck said, “the man who first tied it.”

MAYBE WE’LL CATCH IT AGAIN

Chuck wasted little time. He made a few tentative casts, and then within a few minutes landed several  few medium sized fish.  Generally, he releases most all the fish he catches but because Janie and I both like fish dinners, we saved several.  Chuck then cast again, and this time I saw his rod arc sharply.  Apparently he knew he had something different on his line, as he played it slowly, bending his body left and right and keeping the line tight. He played the fish for almost five minutes, finally landing it.

Too Beautiful to Keep

Too Beautiful to Keep!!

The fish was large, and Chuck said it was the largest he had ever caught in Montana. We both admired it and then Chuck said it was too beautiful to keep and so we released it.  We watched it as it regrouped, then suddenly, with a flick of its tail, reentered the swift waters of the Big Hole, where it made its home.

“Some day,” said Chuck with much satisfaction, “we might just catch  it gain. ”

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Nikon Strobes & Flower Photography

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©Bert Gildart: Bannack provides some of the state’s best camping and is the spot we’re calling home for the next night or two.  The settlement was founded on July 28, 1862, when John White and other members of the “Pikes Peakers” discovered gold in Grasshopper Creek, a small flow of water we’re now watching carefully to make sure we don’t get flooded out.

Gold was first discovered in Montana on Grasshopper Creek, which gave rise to Bannack

Many historic preservationists believe Bannack is one of the West’s best preserved old ghost town.  It was Montana’s first Territorial Capitol.

THE LONG DROP

Little changes here and the old structures I’ve enjoyed photographing over the years still remain, appearing quite functional. Throughout, old wagons stand ready to transport gold, while buildings appear inhabitable. The old jail, Montana’s first, appears ready to accommodate thieves, drunks and murderers, while up on a prominent hill, in plain site, is a lone gallows, and it, too, appears quite functional. There, as every high school student learns in courses on Montana History, Sheriff Henry Plummer took the long drop.

Plummer arrived in Bannack in 1863, and because he was glib and persuasive, he became sheriff. What was not known by the town’s citizens is their sheriff may well have been the leader of an outlaw gang.

Janie, who has been misbehaving, hikes to same gallows from which Henry Plummer made the “Long Drop;”  John Phillip presents lessons on gold panning; old wagon adds sense of timelessness to Bannack.

But eventually a man about to be hung pointed a finger at Henry Plummer prompting the Vigilantes to gather and meditate heavily. Helping in their thinking was lots of liquor and they soon concluded Plummer was guilty. Though their sheriff begged and pleaded—even offered to tell where $100,000 of gold was buried—the group ignored him. Story has it that Plummer’s final words were, “Just give me a good drop.”

From here, we’re heading to visit a good friend who guides on the Big Hole River.  However, the Big Hole is in flood stage so our fishing may have to wait. We’ve learned to simply take what comes.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Traveling the ALCAN

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©Bert Gildart: Once again the bird feeder is capturing our attention, providing humor and sometimes creating philosophy, so easy to do on these boring winter days when winds blow and temperatures hover well below freezing.

Philosophically, we have concluded there are four different groups that gather at our feeder: the Republicans, Democrats, the Self-Assured Independents, and the Evil Ones. And  we have a rationale for each.

Doves, we’ve concluded, are the Democrats, tending to get along and allowing others of all stripes to gather along the feeding platform. At least they do so until seed on the platform begins to diminish, then realizing they may go hungry, they begin to bicker. But as long as the food lasts, they’re cooperative.

Flickers (perched atop feeder and descending tree) are the Republicans; doves the Democrats

Red-shafted flickers are the Republicans, and by their actions seem to express a belief in power of the individual.  Flickers never forget that one cold winter day the food could all be gone; and they have no compunctions about driving others away with their God-given sharp beaks, even those of their own kind. If they could speak, they might proclaim they had succeeded at the feeder because they worked harder than their competitors.

Pileated woodpeckers are the Self Assured Independents, and can be that way because of their size, strength and coordination. At our feeder, they’re the golden eagles. In the world of humans, they would be a Jack Dempsey, a Muhammad Ali, standing confident, even when the suet runs low. When it’s gone, pileated woodpeckers fly away, believing, it seems, that they will find other sources.

Pileated woodpecks feed with confidence at our feeder; they're the Independents

And now we have our occasional Evil One, the squirrels, who come to our feeder and do whatever they have to do to capitalize on what’s there. They break the windows of the feeder, scatter seed all about, even take up residence until we shoo them away. They’re the Bernie Madoffs, the Kenneth Lays who sometimes bully their way to our feeder.

But what, we ask ourselves, is going to happen should we leave or – heaven forbid – should we run out of money to buy suet and bird feed? There will be a shut down and unless our birds can find other sources, some could perish.

Red squirrels are the Bernie Madoffs at our feeder, creating havoc

So that’s how we spend boring winter days in Montana, talking about birds and their party affiliations, realizing, of course, that we need much more study to add distinction to these thoughts.

I’ll bet that Gildart blog readers are glad that winter here is starting to wind down.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Missions of San Antonio

*And For Some Good Down Home Advice From an Old Farmer

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Mark Ambre offers over a decade of guide service for x-country ski enthusiasts, all from the Izaak Walton Inn.

©Bert Gildart: Snow swished beneath our skis and the sound mixed occasionally with the distant echo of a lonesome railroad whistle, adding nostalgic to an already romantic  setting.

Trees were weighted with dense layers of snow, and as we reached the outer limits of the well-groomed back-country trail known as the Highline, clouds lifted and we could see lofty peaks spiraling upward from nearby  Glacier National Park.

SURROUNDED BY ICONS

At this point, Janie and I had reached the summit of trails forming this delightful wilderness setting.

We stopped for a few moments to enjoy the spectacle, appreciating that we were  also engulfed by the Bob Marshall and the Great Bear wilderness areas.

A trail-side gauge indicted snow depths of over five feet, and we pointed our skis downward, quickly gliding along  Pileated run; and, then, several miles later, to a sign pointing us to the hotel, from which our outing had originated.

We removed our skis, walked a bridge that crossed over a series of railroad tracks, then picked up a snow path that took us to the steps of the Izaak Walton Inn. The rustic lodge serves as a year-around retreat for those who want access in the summer to hiking, fishing and rafting – and in the winter to cross-country skiing and snowshoeing.

L TO R: In addition to about 35 rooms, the hotel also offers caboose accommodations; goat is the symbol of Great Northern and official mammal of GNP; Empire Builder and freight train stopped at Izaak Walton.

Over the years, the rustic hotel has become one of our favorite destinations, and though it offers no cell phone reception and no TV, it does offer a form of charm that is unrivaled.

ROMANCE & NOSTALGIA

Placing our skis in the pegs provided, we stepped into a lounge graced by a stone hearth, which contained a robust log fire that crackled and radiated warmth. We purchased two glasses of wine then turned to the soft chairs, which invited relaxation. We sat and began looking around.

A center table cross-sectioned from a huge tamarack tree dominated the lounge and was complemented by end tables adorned with lamps and lampshades etched with images of mountain goats. Glass-covered bookcases contained old books to include a number of Reader’s Digest Condensed books.

DISTANT TRAIN TRAVELERS

Continuing our visual sweep, we noted signal lamps hung from posts reminding us that it was the train that had first brought visitors to Glacier and that this old lodge was a part of that history. And, then, as though to punctuate that thought, Amtrak’s Empire Builder whistled its way to a stop at a nearby concrete slab, which was embedded with jackets of propane-heated water, installed to prevent the accumulation of snow.

L TO R: Lodgepole pines flank Middle Fork River Trail; descending Highline Trail; Janie waxing skis prior to day along one of the many trails forming hotel complex.

More visitors to the lodge – and we later learned that some had boarded the train in Seattle. That evening the west-bound equivalent arrived, and this time several skiers hailed from Chicago, again, providing testimony that the rustic wooden hotel is a Mecca for those with a yen for nostalgia and the outdoors.

ICONIC FISHING AUTHOR

Izaak Walton Inn was built in 1939 in part to accommodate train crews, but also to accommodate visitors who expected to use an entrance station to Glacier that would be constructed several miles away near Park Creek. The entrance never materialized, but as time went by, outdoor people began to gravitate to the lodge. Appropriately the lodge was named for Sir Izaak Walton, the 16^th century English author and sportsman who wrote The Compleat Angler. Sure enough, the area provides wildlife viewing,  rafting and lots of trout fishing.

RESIDENT SKI GUIDE

But on this particularly occasion, Janie and I were there for the skiing and to gather information for a book we’ve been commissioned to write on certain classic aspects of Glacier.  Certainly the old hotel – with its history, railroad themes, multitude of outdoor activities, as well as its cozy bedrooms and wonderful dinning – fulfills the requisite. The lodge even offers a resident ski guide and next day we’d heard that Mark Ambre would be offering a guided tour to a challenging area in Glacier not far from Firebrand Pass.

Dr. Andy Zimet and wife Linda Farmer of Whitefish lounge after a day of skiing. Both excellent skiers.

How could we pass up something like that? In fact, we couldn’t, appreciating that the Izaak Walton was indeed a lodge for all seasons and that it offered all these activities  against a backdrop of nostalgia that remained true to the area’s history — and Glacier National Park’s  intent.

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THIS TIME THEE YEARS AGO:

*Eyes of Canyon

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©Bert Gildart: It’s always a pleasure for Janie and me to sort through images I’ve produced over the year and decide which we like best. Although I’m usually the one depressing the shutter, often Janie holds strobes or serves as a model, sometimes in very challenging positions.

Travel creates some unusual opportunities, and 2010 was no exception, and so we were able to examine images from Anza Borrego, Zion, Sonny Bono Wildlife Refuge, and a few places along the East Coast to include Cumberland, Bull Run and Andersonville.

L to R: Kayaking to Cumberland Island National Seashore; Daniela Weiss peering down from Angel’s Landing and onto canyon created by Virgin River.

Several images from Zion brought back delightful memories, particularly one of Daniela Weiss peering down from Angel’s Landing onto the canyon created by the Virgin River.

CUMBERLAND ISLAND RANKED HIGH

As well, an image of Janie and me kayaking from South River State Park in Georgia, across the Intercoastal waterway and then, finally, seven miles later reaching our destination. For us, this image approaching Cumberland Island National Seashore also ranked high.

L to R:  petroglyphs at Hell’s Canyon;  fairy shrimp, which emerge but once on average every five years — both from Anza Borrego Desert State Park.

But the images that seemed best from a photographic point of view were the ones taken in and around Anza Borrego Desert State Park, and perhaps this should not seem surprising when we recall the months we spent camped in this wonderful California area. While there we hiked to a spot preserving the ancient images of Indian art, and because of the photographic techniques, including the balancing of several strobes with daylight, I liked that image.

FAIRY SHRIMP CHALLENGED

So, too, the image of fairy shrimp, which emerge only following extreme desert rains, generally about once every five year. Last year was one of those years, and at the time I posted this image and described the elaborate techniques for recording these inch-long crustaceans.

Despite the successful documentation of the above, my favorite image of 2011 was taken near Sonny Bono Wildlife Refuge of a pair of burrowing owls.

BIZARRE NEST TOPS LIST

Though it is difficult to photograph these tiny owls, even more difficult was finding a pair with a compelling story. Farm practices have eliminated the burrows required by these diminutive owls, forcing them in several cases to resort to discarded tractor tires.

Twenty-first Century provides many challenges for wildlife, epitomzed by the bizarre nest these burrowing owls had to settle for -- a Good Year Tractor Tire.

Publication also makes a statement and several of these images have already appeared in magazines; others will soon follow.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*Ghost Mountain

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©Bert Gildart: Somewhere in Montana’s Flathead Valley (it’s a top secret), there is a perfect spot for small numbers of family groups to gather on a snowy winter day, to build a campfire, lower the tailgates of their pickups, eat hot chilly –  and for children,  both young and old, to climb the nearby hills, push off  on sleds  for a delightful 50-yard descent to the warm fire around which many of the adults have gathered, essentially because they’re drinking hot chocolate. (Well some of them are.)

View from above of the sled encampment

Families assembled know one another  from years of association in the Flathead, though they represent an eclectic  group. Among them is a fellow who commutes to Russia as a timber consultant, a mason, an electrician, a social worker, a teacher, a forest ranger,  and several Realtors; and though their professions are diverse, they’re all drawn here by their shared interest of family fun and by the general exhilaration of sledding.

DIFFERENT SLED DESIGNS

Sleds are certainly different from the American Flier I used as a boy. Those who can remember back that far will recall the metal runners which elevated you several inches above the surface of the snow.

L to R: (Group photo) Zane, Molly, granddaughter Halle, Raney; (middle photo) Raney  (note Molly and Raney are identical twins); (right photo) Molly followed by Halle. 

Though I occasionally see these old-style sleighs, more popular today are sleds that have more of a toboggan look to them. The result is that you are separated by just fractions of an inch from the surface over which you glide.

PLEASE SHOW RATHER THAN TELL!

Because I was the “elder” in the group, many wanted me to join in the sledding, which I did. And here I must point out that some of those who encouraged me the most were among the few adults who did not actually join their children. Words of encouragement took the form of: “Hey, you need to run [at the top of the slope] before you take off. That way you’ll generate more speed.

“Watch the kids!”

Teepee fire, surrounded by winter tailgaters and sledders, young and old.

Next time, I’m hoping for a more participatory audience; some adult who will show rather than tell.  And I’m also hoping that those who discovered the joy of winter sledding will keep it a top secret.

P.S.  Of course you can enhance your enjoyment of Montana’s Flathead Valley by purchasing our book (below), Exploring Glacier and Montana’s Flathead Valley.  Money will help us feed our grandkids and put shoes on their feet.

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THIS TIME ONE YEAR AGO:

*Anza Borrego Desert State Park

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©Bert Gildart: Happy Winter Solstice, and this year as so many probably know, it was an especially eventful one. For the first time in about 2,000 years winter solstice coincided with a total lunar eclipse.

Most living in my neck of the woods, meaning Montana’s Flathead Valley, probably didn’t get too excited about the phenomena  as the skies here are so often overcast. Last night, December 20^th, was no exception. The next time such events will be in sync will about 80 years down the line, meaning my grandchildren might well experience the two events simultaneously.

Northern lights, Arctic Village Alaska

The fact that I couldn’t see it, however, doesn’t mean I don’t get excited about solar events, as this image of northern lights takes several years ago in the Arctic might suggest. In Arctic Village, Alaska, located about 270 miles north of Fairbanks I made this image about 6 in the evening. By that time there is almost 24 hours of complete darkness, which isn’t surprising when you realize that this tiny village is about 150 miles above the Arctic Circle.

But I’m straying far afield. Actually all I set out to do was to wish everyone a Happy Winter Solstice. From this point on, the days will start getting longer, the main reason people originally began celebrating this day.

PHOTO NOTES:

For the photographer the image was made on a Nikon D-300, which withstood -30 temperatures. Exposure was about 30 seconds with an aperture of  f-8. ISO was 200.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Digital Night Photography

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MERRY CHRISTMAS

And — Dear Family and Friends

"How high's the water Momma?"

©Bert Gildart:  “How high’s the water momma?”

That was one of the questions I hummed out to Janie this year while camped last winter in California’s Anza Borrego Desert State Park. Though the park is indeed a desert,  rains fall nevertheless, and during the winter of 2010 that huge, sprawling park saw more than its fair share of precipitation.

We celebrated New Year here gathered around a campfire listening to music by Tony Feathers, whose songs, we joked, had the power to lure in the high-jumping Kangaroo Rats.

In case anyone is in doubt, Janie and I thoroughly enjoy our life on the road, and again we’ve managed to wander extensively.

Travel enables us to keep up with most of our friends (sadly not our good friends in Alaska such as Kenneth and Caroline), though we may try and remedy that next year.

As well, travel provides the materials I need to write the several dozen stories I still produce each year. My best story of the year was about the Eskimo/Indian Olympics, which included the “One Foot High Jump.”

In this event (see pictures below), each contestant leaps high into the air on say the right foot, kicks the ball with the same foot, and then lands – on the same foot. It is an amazing feat of athletic prowess, as are all the other events.

L TO R: Campfire at Peg Leg in Anza Borrego; black bear heeding sow’s warning to climb tree; grizzly bear (2009)  in Glacier National Park about ready to hibernate. All Images copy righted

I also sell pictures each year to book companies and magazines and have included here a few examples. Sometimes companies make substantial selections and 30 were used for the May 2010 Public TV presentation “Night of the Grizzlies.” In 1967 two girls were fatally mauled in the course of a single night in two different areas, representing the first fatal maulings in the history of Glacier National Park.

L TO R: Kenneth Frank at Old John Lake on a day that was 30 below, extracting fish from one of 12 holes we had augered out; Elijah Cabinboy demonstrating athletic prowess in World Eskimo Indian Olympics; dancer in opening of 2009 games as seen in my magazine story. Images copyrighted

Many were involved in the recovery and in the shooting of the bears, and the program producers did a wonderful job collecting interviews from all involved, which included me. The program can be purchased on-line from Montana Public TV.

About mid July we departed from our “other home” (permanently hitched to Montana), then traveled to the East Coast where we saw family and friends. We see them all too little and wish they were closer. Fortunately other children live in Montana, and obviously we see them more often. On both coasts, all are doing well, and we hope this spate of good luck continues.

L TO R: Adam Maffei ascending Old Rag, September 2010, in  Shenandoah; Janie and Bert kayaking to Cumberland Islands Nat. Seashore, October 2010; Bert Gildart with killer bear, 1967. Images copyrighted

Other significant portions of the year were spent in Shenandoah updating a book we wrote years ago about this premier national park. As well, we took in the history at Bull Run, hiked in Zion, kayaked to Cumberland Island National Seashore, and visited Andersonville, the infamous Civil War prison camp. We stopped briefly in Alabama to visit my old college roommate.

Northern Lights: All Photographs shown here are copyrighted and continue to appear (often with stories) in periodicals such as Christian Science Monitor, National Wildlife, Highlights for Children, Native Peoples Magazine, and dozens more.  This particular image depicts cabin Janie and I lived in one winter while gathering stories on the Gwich’in Indians, who continue to depend on the Porcupine Caribou Herd for subsistence.

THE DOWNSIDE to the year was the passing of my 97-year old godmother. She provided me with life-long moral support, and her memories included barge trips as little girl along the C&O Canal. She is the last of family from the generation that preceded me and her passing means that those of my generation are now the “elders.” Presumably with age one acquires a certain wisdom, but I’m not sure I’m yet prepared for such designation — or  the responsibilities — particularly in the wake of someone who did so well.

We remain in good health and hope the same holds true for all our friends, many of whom we see all too seldom.

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PREVIOUS POST: (Night of the Grizzlies) This post of three years ago continues to attract those wishing to leave comments, as it just did two nights ago from an individual who was attacked by a grizzly bear, but obviously survived.

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©Bert Gildart:  In my last post I talked about a few of the challenges confronting us on our kayak trip to Georgia’s Cumberland Island National Seashore. In this blog I want to talk about one of the most lavish gifts a mother ever provided a child, and that is the castle-like structure that we saw on our kayak trip. The structure was located about 200 yards from our campsite; and unless you are one of the few remaining island residents, you can only reach the area by kayaking, backpacking or by using a rental bike. We hope access never changes — but fear there’s writing on the wind and that it will soon be blowing  Cumberland’s way — despite the wilderness nature of the surrounding area.

Plum Orchard, a mother's gift

Seeing the immense castle-like old home is worth the effort for it dates back to the late 1890s. It exists because Lucy Carnegie decided she would build a mansion for each child who remained on Cumberland Island. For her daughter Retta, she built Greyfield, but she built the most impressive mansion for her son, George Lauder Carnegie. She named it Plum Orchard after an old plantation built along Brickhill River, a river which lured Janie me from our camp in the evening. Here from the banks we’d watch as otters cruised the river and where dozens of white ibis gathered to roost on a huge live oak.

The castle was dedicated October 6, 1898, but one morning as we walked the premises (112 years later!) concluded the secluded old home is still in good shape. The paint looked relatively fresh and horse manure informed us that the park’s “wild” horses’ gravitated to the grasslands surrounding the old home.

STEPPING BACK IN TIME

Those in the know say that the architecture of the home is Greek Revival, but with its tall columns Janie and I were reminded of Scarlet O’Hara’s home Tara in Gone With the Wind.  On our warm Georgia day, full of sun and the quiet murmur of Brickhill River running nearby it was a delightful to let the imagination run wild.

L to R: Elaborate staircase; elaborate tiffany lamp back dropped by huge arched fireplace

No one was nearby on this mid November day so we walked to one of the windows and peered in, wishing we could see the interior. Moments later luck intervened in the form of a group of graduate students from Clemson University completing work on park management who had been quietly meandering around themselves. They had befriended us and were now inviting us to join their private park tour.

Victoria Jumper, an intern, was with the group and she provided background history but asked us to please remember that she had just started the program and that she too was learning – but she could have fooled us. She was enthusiastic and said she drew on materials from Cumberland Island: A History, by Mary R. Bullard, something I later did as well.

Victoria said Plum Orchard consisted of 21,724 square feet after additions were made in 1906.  The additions included a 9-foot deep swimming pool that was always cold as it derived waters from a deep artesian well. When the Carnegies lived there the pool’s depth challenged the children, and they would attempt to “walk” the length of the bottom without emerging.

OSTENTATIOUS LIFESTYLE

As well the mansion included a squash court with viewing balcony, prompting James Nampushi, a student from Kenya, to suggest that Carnegie’s may have been “a little ostentatious.” We both laughed but the evidence was there in the form of size; in the form of a spiral staircase, expensive wall paper, and a mammoth fireplace all graced with dark walnut paneling. Later, we discovered we agreed on many other subjects, particularly on the need to save wilderness with its diminishing wildlife.

Fruit desert fit for a king, or for a Carnegie; Squash Court –  and my new friend James Nampushi, a master’s degree student form Kenya, in yellow and black sweater

Despite the home’s relatively good care, conspicuously missing were the home’s elaborate furnishings and their absence tells a story that began with the untimely death of George Carnegie in 1921. Shortly thereafter his wife Margaret married a French count who came to Plum Orchard and took almost all the furniture, chandeliers, and gold bath fixtures, as well as George’s guns, trophies and books.  The count shipped all to New York where he placed it on auction.  Finally, the Carnegies informed him that he was no longer welcome at Plum Orchard.

NPS TAKEOVER

After that the mansion began to fall into a state of disrepair, but in 1973 the Park Service took over Plum Orchard. For awhile the mansion functioned as their Island Headquarters.  Then, headquarters were changed and today upkeep of the mansion depends on Congressional funding, which can, of course, be capricious.

Still, the castle remains impressive and I hope these images might in some small way help to convey the message that this old structure should be preserved. It is part of America’s history and continues to tell a fascinating story. Management will be the key, and its preservation may well fall to the skills of future conservationists such as James, who now hopes to manage some of the last remnants of wild land back home in Africa.

We’re now heading home and expect it will take us about 10 days to complete the 2,100 mile drive to Montana, something I used to make in about three days when I was in my early twenties. Now we dawdle, preferring to smell the roses.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Athabascan Fiddle Festival

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Kayaking Cumberland Island National Seashore

©Bert Gildart: Unless you do lots of pre-planning, kayaking to new places can be a challenge, especially from water level where so much of the landscape appears featureless. But the rewards can be immense, and during our recent trip we had dolphins circling our kayaks, saw a multitude of birds — and one day had what Janie called a herd  of armadillos (five!) circling our tent. As well, we were thrust back into the gilded age, a period when the ultra rich celebrated their wealth by building castle-like homes, which still remain on Cumberland Island National Seashore. It is something I’ll describe in my next posting.

But in this posting I want to explain a bit about the joys of kayaking and tell how we approach it. I also want to explain a few of the restrictions managers place on visiting this national seashore, and ways in which they have of preserving the wilderness qualities of this incredible barrier island located just off the coast of Georgia.

INITIAL PLANNING

Our planning begins back home in Montana, where we place all equipment necessary for a journey of several days into a large Wall Mart box. Basics include a home (a tent), sleeping bags, food, and a backpack stove for cooking. It sounds simple but when you start actually preparing for a trip you realize there’s much more that might be needed, particularly in late fall when there is so little daylight – and when you are getting older. The list then must include head lamps, perhaps a book, pills, thin rope to suspend food  and so protect it from raccoons – and perhaps a “pee bottle” so you don’t have to clamber out of the tent at night.

And then, of course, you absolutely must have maps and for me, some type of GPS system – and on this trip having one was a life saver. We purchased a Garmin eTrek (cost from Amazon about $80). Though I would have preferred to have had detailed USGS maps, the park doesn’t carry them so we purchased a map produced by Top Spot map company, and it turned out to be exceptional.

Before leaving we plotted out GPS coordinates, and that’s what later (keep reading) helped us. This type of planning is what has resulted in many successful kayak trips throughout North America to include the Bay of Fundy, South Manitou, and the Apostle Islands, among many others.

CURSES! OUR BASE CAMP CHANGED

The other chore (and it proved a challenge) was finding a safe and secure base from which to launch. We had thought Cooked River State Park would be ideal, and were paying nightly for our site and were assured by several in authority that we’d have no trouble extending for the duration of our trip, which would be unpredictable as it was weather dependent.

(CLICK TO SEE LARGER IMAGE)   L to R: Though we’ve preplanned at home, still we completely pack our kayaks prior to transporting them to launch site; cart at Plum Orchard for toting gear; Hunt Camp at Plum Orchard and site of college group that befriended us.

But one morning we were informed that our site had been “sold out” from under us and that we would have to leave the park, for no more sites were available. Fortunately, not far away was a commercial site known as Big Wheel RV park, and the manager even offered us transportation back to our kayaks after I returned from our launch point at Crooked River. As a result, Big Wheel  became the base from which we operated.

And so (packs tagged with the proper park camping permit) four days ago we pushed off for a three-day trip, leaving on the crest of high tide – and for awhile, all went well. The outgoing tide helped sweep us in the right direction, but then, although the weather station had predicted light breezes, something happened. Soon, strong winds began to blow, and that is when we were glad we’d mapped out our course, for with the GPS – and our waypoints — essentially all we had to do was follow the eTrek pointer. That helped when waves and wind forced us into some tall marsh grass.

Though we didn’t make Brickhill, our destination, we did make a campsite at Plum Orchard, and were flattered when a college group invited us to camp with them. All were graduate students completing advanced degrees in park management.

DOLPHINS

Next day I kayaked toward Brickhill (Janie was exhausted) but the tides were wrong and it took me about three hours to reach a point just a mile or so south of Brickhill. But here, immensely good fortune offered me a consolation. Suddenly behind me I heard a powerful exhalation of breath. Five dolphins began circling my kayak, leaping out of the water, looking my direction. This went on for about five minutes.

By now, it was early afternoon, and I realized I’d never reach Brickhill in time to complete my real goal, and that was hiking several miles to the northern part of the island and seeing America’s First African Baptist Church. But the goal remains one of the features I know will lure me back again to this incredible island.

eTrek and good map with Waypoints assisted us in route finding. We started in lower left and concluded in upper right.

With no wind and the tide now in my favor, what had taken me over two hours to kayak was reduced to about 40 minutes. The distance was close to five miles and one time, my eTrek told me I was in fact cruising at over 5 mph.

FERAL HOGS

For Janie and me, our time was up. Though we would have liked to remain and camped at Brickhill Bluff, park managers had opened Cumberland Island for a 3-day hog hunt, which may seem incompatible with a national park, but is really a good thing. The point is that hunters get the campsites, but some day we’ll try again!

L to R: Sunset, Plum Orchard; arrival of hog hunters necessitates our departure, but their presence is a good thing.

Hogs which escaped from plantation owners and from black slaves had proliferated, and had begun destroying the park’s vegetation. Something had to be done, but even a professional hunter found he could not eliminate them. Today, they reproduce at such a rate that although hunters now take hundreds, hundreds still remain secreted.

And so Janie and I again pushed off, this time with no wind and with another powerful and favorable tide. To me, our experience offered exactly what it should have offered. It offered the challenge of coping with a little uncertainty and then the rewards of seeing a multitude of new and different features in an incredible national park administered area.

Again, in my next posting, I want to show images of Plum Orchard, and explain how it came to be.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*Channel Islands

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Virtually blind, the armadillo is easy to approach, but not to photograph.

©Bert Gildart: Despite the mammal’s chunky armor-plated make up and total lack of fear, the animal was proving hard to photograph. Janie and I had found the armadillo on Cumberland Island Georgia and were amazed by its Cavalier mannerisms.

We’d seen the creature rooting near an old historic mansion known as Dungeness and because I wanted good professional quality images, crept over to the armadillo’s general location with a long telephoto lens. Fearing to approach too closely, I simply stood stationary when suddenly my subject came rooting over toward my feet, head buried, apparently chomping on roots. Suddenly the virtually blind creature realized it was not alone and abruptly leaped into the air. Then it scurried about 15 feet away. The distance was OK for photographs, but the darn thing kept its head buried. Changing to a short lens, I sat down and then moved in close, still waiting for the animal to elevate its plated head.

Fifteen minutes later I grew frustrated and shuffled my feet in the leaves. Apparently that was enough for the armadillo, which began searching for the source of the noise. As a photographer from Montana, the experience was my first extended time with the nine-banded armadillo, and I was fascinated.

It was a nice way to begin an extended tour of this barrier island that has seen so much of American history and that has such a wonderful assortment of wildlife and other interesting animals.

WHERE HISTORY RINGS

We had begun our tour early in the morning, boarding the Cumberland Princess from the mainland for the 45 minute trip to the barrier island. Disembarking at a dock near the Ice House Museum, we joined ranger Ginger Cox for her several hour long interpretive program on the island’s history. She explained that a James Oglethorpe built a hunting lodge on the island and named it Dungeness. As the years passed others came to the island and the list rings like an American history book.

Ms. Cox  talked about Lighthorse Harry Lee, another Revolutionary war hero who took ill off the coast of Cumberland and sought shelter on Cumberland. He stayed until his death and was buried here for a time. We saw his grave, but patriots dug up Lighthorse Lee’s body and reburied him next to his son, Robert E. Lee in Virginia.

L to R: Horses are descendants of the slave operated plantation, and though not indigenous removal attempts generate a shrill public outcry; the Cumberland Princess provides access to the island for backbackers and visitors alike. Or, the wilderness minded  can kayak.

The most influential family to occupy the island was the Carnegie family who built a 28,000 square foot “castle.” In 1925 the Carnegies moved out of Dungeness. In 1959 a massive fire swept through the home, and though the structure remains, today it invites visitors to reflect on a bygone era. In 1972 the Park Service acquired the island and today, they interpret the island’s natural history and its remarkable human history.

Historic Dungeness has appeared in various forms, now as ruins and as the legacy of a grand era dominated by the Carneige family.

Island history also includes a period of plantation ownership, and the horses we saw were descendants of the farming era. Cox told us the island also has hogs that can be destructive, and because they are prolific, the park opens the island for a brief period to hog hunters. “Hunters,” said Cox, “take hundreds, but hundreds are still left.”

The ranger’s talk was fascinating and all too soon she left, suggesting that we continue our hike to the beach and then cross back over the sand dunes to where we’ll wind up at a dock near a canopy of live oak.

UPCOMING KAYAK TRIP

Though the southern portion of the island is easy to reach not so the northern. You can backpack to this area, managed as wilderness, or you can kayak, and that is precisely what Janie and I plan to do today. The biggest challenge is coping with the tide, but we’ve talked to rangers who have helped us understand their significance.

Grand Avenue bisects this controversial wilderness park, whose confusing managment plan has resulted in the transfer of park superintendents and the dissolution of long-term friendships.

We plan to kayak from Crooked River State Park across the intra coastal to a wilderness campground known as Brickhill. From there we plan to hike to remnants of an old African settlement and see their church, which is still in good shape and which has the distinction of being the first Baptist Church ever constructed by former slaves. On May 11, 2008, the church was also the setting for the wedding of John Kennedy Jr. To reach it he drove 12 miles down Grand Avenue (above) — through the area designated as wilderness, which raised the hackles of some.

On our three-day kayak trip  along the way we also expect to see lots more armadillos, which I’ve discovered are fairly abundant, but which none the less remain fascinating.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Natchez Trace

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Squirrel strikes classic pose with acorn in mouth.

©Bert Gildart: For the past week we have been camped at a very delightful campground, one that is not only beautiful but well positioned logistically to accomplish our objectives. As a bonus, it came to acquaint me with a critter I used to hunt with a gun, but was content this past week to hunt it with a camera. That objective, however, was secondary to accomplishing a far more significant objective.

Objective number one was visiting my Godmother who will soon turn 97. For her age she is doing remarkably well, but time is catching up and she was having some problems and we wanted to help. Her presence throughout my life has been significant.

But helping meant that Janie and I had to find a campground as close to Washington D.C. as possible. Previously this summer we had made several long drives from Shenandoah, but that required a trip of almost four hours.

Then we heard from a Virginia native camped adjacent to us in Shenandoah about Bull Run Regional Park, and though we were skeptical about anything near D.C., we’ve since concluded that we actually  lucked out.

At least that was true after we learned about D.C. traffic patterns.

CURSES ON D.C. TRAFFIC

Though it is only 28 miles to the retirement home in which my Godmother lived, when we hit the traffic wrong, our speed dropped to five and 10 mph. One night it dropped even lower and for about 30 minutes we sat along with what must have been over a million other cars averaging zero mph. After that it became stop and go, stop and go meaning that what required 40 minutes of driving time on several occasions required well over two hours.

New acquaintances say that during those times you conjure up words you’d never have said in front of your mother – “but if you hit a bottleneck, you’ll sure say them now!”

Searching for acorns

At those times D.C. registered as one of my worst nightmares. Later we learned that to avoid hordes of humanity we had to depart the campground after 10, then get back on the road before 2 pm or wait until after 7 pm.

BULL RUN REGIONAL PARK

Sometimes that left us with a little extra time, and Bull Run Regional Park offers much. While here, we’ve managed to make a number of trips to the immediately adjacent Manassas National Battlefield. We also strolled along  Bull Run, now a small stream but one where thousands once perished in what was our worst national tragedy, the Civil War (see previous post). The “Run” flows through our campground where we’ve also managed to do a little bicycling and a little walking — keeping our eyes open for wildlife.

CHALLENGE OF SQUIRREL PHOTOGRAPHY

During these rides and walks, we’ve seen deer, lots of geese, several foxes and lots of squirrels. Though the squirrels were not tame, they were somewhat tolerant of our observations as they went about their work of fattening up for the winter. The more I watched them the more fascinated I became with their antics and decided to make a photographic study of their busy lives .

Fall and squirrels feast on acorns that have fallen and that they've gathered.

The images shown here were taken in spurts over a period of one week, and hopefully show an interesting mammal gathering food. To provide distance I used a 600mm lens for all the images, otherwise the little rodents would scamper off. Or they’d circle to the backside of a tree, stealing peeks to see where I might be. If I appeared interested they’d duck. I knew about that from the days I hunted the little boogers. (My dad used to curse them as they made a mess of his garden.)

And what about objective number one? Happily everything seems on the mend and today we are departing for Cumberland Island National Seashore in Georgia. We expect it will take about two days — if we can avoid some of this nightmare traffic.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*Pure Photography

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Watching the leaves turn and our solar panels collect all the radiant energy we've been enjoying.

©Bert Gildart: For the past few days we’ve been quite content to sit on camp chairs and watch as our solar collectors do their job – converting radiant energy into electrical energy. In fact, at times it has required a considerable effort to rise and return to the interior of our Airstream to conduct the business we have yet to complete.

Part of the problem is that we have been so active physically, and gearing down to desk work requires a substantial mental effort. So much more enjoyable to sit outside and soak up the rays and contemplate the efficiency of our solar panels.

But all that is coming to an end no matter what we may want. In one more week, Loft Campground will close for the season and already several of the seasonal rangers we’ve meet are drawing their last check of the year. Nights are getting cold and here at an elevation nearing 3,500 feet, we’ve seen some frost. Time to say bye, bye.

AUTUMN PASSION

But all that aside, we simply have to move on and most likely would have except for the fact that all campgrounds we’ve called our booked solid, meaning we must wait until after the weekend. In other words, people are passionate about fall color and love to camp in these forests dominated by oak and hickory, all bolstered in other places by hosts of eastern species such locust, sassafras, birch and poplar.

That leaves little alternative other than to watch the sun soak our batteries – and think about what we’ve seen and enjoyed as we’ve watched summer transition to fall.

CLICK TO SEE LARGER IMAGES. L to R: Summit Blacktop; sumac berries at southern end of park now ripe; rocks mountain folks piled, possibly to clear are for garden space; sassafras leaves and trail to Cathedral Rocks

Foremost have been the friends and family members who have camped with us for days on end, most notably Adam and Sue, Rich and his family — and one week ago, my nephew, his wife and their 16-month old baby, Eaden. What fun we’ve had with everyone. Joel (my nephew) and Becca are determined that their child will grow up loving the out-of-doors and they think nothing of strapping their baby on their backs and carrying him along some of the park’s most challenging trails.

TRAILS WE’VE HIKED

During the several days they camped with us, we hiked trails to Blackrock Summit, and Calvary Rocks, and we hiked the Frazier Discovery Trail, all satisfying our interests in geological history. With the exception of the mammoth boulders found on Old Rag, scientists have designated most of the rocks we’ve recently seen as Greenstone, another form of granite but created by different processes that were separated by the passing of half-a-billion years. Such a figure is much easier to say than to imagine – and is certainly difficult to come to grips with. But the world’s best scientists provide their evidence, and I for one believe in the generation of scientists whose imaginations have helped create and develop our many “miracle” drugs.

Autumn at Old Rag as seen from Skyline Drive

As Janie and I sat outside our camper watching our solar collectors, we recalled that we have made many, many hikes and just the other day recalled that we hiked to an abandoned pasture near the park’s southern end. Apple trees planted by an earlier group of occupants still grow, but near the fringe of the pasture lush sumac berries presented a wonderful photographic challenge, essentially met using two strobes to provide even lighting on that sunny day so full of dark shadows.

A.T. HIKERS

Yet another day we recalled a couple we’d met along a section of the Appalachian Trail leading, in this case, from Powell Gap toward the Simmons Gap Ranger Station. They said they’d gotten married just a few days ago and that they had decided to honeymoon on the trail.

"We're married! See our rings." Newly weds hiking A.T. who go by trail name of Pago Pago and Noggin Knocker

Most AT hikers assume trail names and they were no exception, calling themselves Pago Pago and she, Noggin’ Knocker.

A little further along the same trail we came to piles of rocks, and we recalled that thousands had once occupied these old worn down mountains. As we sat in the sun, we again recalled these mountain people, coming to believe the rocks may have been moved to allow garden space. Were these families happy and prosperous?

Like most populations, some found success, but some didn’t. Many, however, certainly weren’t happy when authorities told them they’d have to move to make way for the creation of a national park. According to a campground host, in the 1930’s some of these mountain people were actually handcuffed and carted off.

BYE BYE SHENANDOAH

But that’s the park’s dark side, and right now, that’s not what I’m seeing as we glance around from our job watching solar panels do their job.

All around we see leaves turning red, yellow and orange, and we are regretting that it is now time to leave. But we’ve gathered all the materials needed to update our books (see below) and the sun is no longer putting out the same amount of sun it did when we first arrived.

Tomorrow we’re departing for Washington DC to visit an aunt, and then we’re heading for several days to Cumberland Island National Seashore in Georgia. Then we’re heading back home to Montana, hopefully arriving before snows set in and all functional solar energy wanes from winter skies now manifest with their reduced durations.

Bye, bye, Shenandoah. We’ll miss you!

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR

*Thoughts from Experts on Grizzly Bears

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Kelsey with leaf bug, which she located from its "chirping" sound.

©Bert Gildart: “It sounded like a bird chirping,” said Kelsey, one of my wife’s grandchildren and a person whom I always enjoy seeing. “It fell out of a tree right beside me and that’s how I found it.

“I could hardly see it.”

Appropriately, the insect Kelsey was referring to is called a leaf bug and the more we examined it the more interesting it became.

As you can see from the photo, they blend almost perfectly with their surroundings, and in fact, from some angles can’t be distinguished from the real leaves around them. Biologically, they are also interesting for if an individual loose one of its limbs, next time it  molts it will  have a new one.

Because of these various characteristics, and because they are harmless to people, some keep leaf bugs as pets.

PRAYING MANTIS

Though the leaf bug was a new creature to Kelsey (and to me as well) not so the praying mantis (look, it’s praying!), which is spelled with an “a” even though it preys on insects. Kelsey knew exactly where to find the model for my photographs. She also knew it was a desirable creature to have around.

Amazing how creatures evolve with features that serve to protect them from predation, in this case "protective camouflage.

People who garden organically encourage the presence of praying mantis because they help reduce undesirable insects from building up.  Each year they consume large numbers of insects. Likewise other creatures prey on the mantis, most commonly the bat. The mantis, however, has developed a technique for foiling bats.

MANTIS ECOLOCATION?

According to an on-line encyclopedia, mantises, when flying at night, are able to detect bats through echolocation. When their built in radar warns them of an approaching bat, they will stop flying horizontally and begin a descending spiral toward the safety of the ground, often preceded by an aerial loop or spin.

Praying mantis, spelled with an "a" for reasons that seem obvious.

Though the several insects included here can be difficult to photograph the task is simplified with high-powered electronic flash units, which enhance depth of field. (See strobes). Still, you’ve got to have someone with an interest in the outdoors and Kelsey (and the Connelly family in general) certainly do have that. Right now it’s bugs, and Janie and I are learning much more about this fascinating world – and the stories that can be told about them through photography.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*Chicken Alaska and Mike Busby’s Pedro Dredge

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©Bert Gildart: We’ve been home for almost a week, but have been so swamped with problems and sad news that we’ve had no time for postings.

For starters, just after backing our Airstream into its protective shed, we opened the slider to facilitate unpacking. No problem – not until I attempted to close it. Half way in I got diverted by a telephone call. When I returned I hit the wrong switch, the one activating the paddle latches, the latches that, when engaged, prevent the slider from bouncing free as one is traveling. Though I’ve made that mistake before, this time it caused the slider to freeze, and no amount of cajoling would close it. That night I closed the slideout by going outside, removing the 10 screws that allow the hinged cover to swing down. Then, I used a wrench to crank (as Airstream directs) the shaft that manually moves the slide in our out.  It’s an emergency procedure, and took about 10 minutes.

On my last posting web designer Tim Van Buren asked if I'd post a low-light image taken during my morning on the lek. Because of the very slow shutter speed, it's a bit fuzzy and is not one I would have shown but for Tim's request. 800 mm lenses amplify the slightest camera motion and that's what happened here. Still, the lighting, as Tim had suspected, was beautiful.

Next day (Monday) I called Airstream and they planted some ideas, but it wasn’t until I shared those ideas with my neighbor (far more sophisticated with electronics than am I) that the problem was resolved. Hutch discovered that in the recess created when the paddle latches are extended that there’s a tiny pin. The pin needs to make contact with another device (which it does when the paddle latches are closed) to complete the circuit. Though the mistake I made is a common one, one I’ve made before as have others, this time my mistake apparently caused a very slight bend in the pen, thus preventing it from making the connection. Once Hutch discovered the problem, the remedy was achieved by bending the pine just slightly, allowing, then,  the circuit to be completed.

TRANSMISSION WOES

The other frustrating news concerns our transmission, which also decided to go out on our return. Dodge makes an excellent diesel engine and is famous for its Cummings brand, but they paired it with a transmission that others have also had trouble with. I was aware of the potential but still, it’s a shock when Dodge repair people say you have three options as follows: One, repair the old transmission for $2,200; two, replace the transmission with a brand new one for $3,000-plus; three, replace the old transmission with a beefed up new transmission for $4,000-plus. We opted for the second option, but only after learning we might have to wait for several months for a beefed-up transmission.

Repair people say that in the future, they’re going to recommend we change transmission oil every 20,000 miles rather than the recommended 30,000. That’s because we use our vehicle for so much towing. They assure us we should get well over 300,000 on our Cummings engine, and hopefully a lot more out of this, our second transmission. Too bad, I told them they had not paired the Cummings with GMC’s Allison transmission, which has reputation as being of the same quality as the Cummings.

SADNESS

Finally, we returned home to discover that one of my older friends, Loren Kreck, had passed away. (Here’s a report from the Missoulian.) He was an icon in the valley. In World War II, he had been a young fighter pilot. Later, he had returned to dental school and then moved to the Flathead were he worked as an orthodontist. He was a member of The Wilderness Society and was active as skier. He was an avid canoeist and spent months traveling wilderness rivers in Canada. He was a senior hockey player as was Charles Schultz (author of Peanuts), whom he once played against.

Yesterday, we attended his memorial service and though sad, we saw many good friends — as Loren would have wanted. Many shared stories, and Doug Chadwick told a story about a month-long camping trip he made to a remote island off the coast of Baja, California. During the trip, Loren was bitten on the thumb by a bark scorpion. Absolutely no help was available so Loren did the only thing he could do. He got into his kayak and paddled with one arm for most of the day, dangling his arm in the salt water, which seem to cleanse.

Like everyone else, we’ll miss Loren, a man with whom Janie and I have cross-country skied and shared many a dinner, enjoying his  stories of adventure and his sense of humor –  good up to the last breath.  (Loren’s last meal was popcorn and a beer. )

On the flip side, the celebration brought together in one setting several hundred people, many of whom we seldom see.  As life-long friend Lou Bruno said, “Seems the only time we see all our friends is at funerals and at weddings. “

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

V-Bar-V Heritage Site

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