©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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Skunks remain our new and most welcome neighbors

©Bert Gildart: Recently U.S. District Judge Martin Feldman, a man with oil interests (until he sold subsequent to his decision), lifted the moratorium on oil drilling. To put it bluntly, I smell a skunk. In fact, the skunks I’m now seeing in my yard quite likely have odor that is considerably less foul than is that of those now responsible for lifting this moratorium. The moratorium, of course, was not an indefinite one, just one intended to allow us time to conduct research that would help prevent another disaster – and the loss of yet more lives.

But that apparently won’t work for Feldman, who is now setting us up for a catastrophe that could be greater than the one we are now experiencing.

From what I read virtually all available resources are currently trying to help BP with its mega disaster, which has created a catastrophe beyond anything we’ve ever known – at least on a short term basis. Lives have been lost, jobs destroyed, and an environmental nightmare has been created that just seems to be getting worse. Compounding the matter is that BP “facts” change each day as company representatives take to the air.

And now Feldman wants to proceed with more drilling, which says to me that the man could care less about the potential loss of more lives or the immense environmental problems that yet another oil spill could cause.

What I want to know is: if we do drill — and if drilling creates another Apocalypse, how would we attempt to resolve a new problem with most world resources now engaged?

Am I missing something?

PROBLEMS IN GLACIER

Logan Pass in Glacier Park opened June 24^th and with its opening, more people are visiting, and some, in fact, are carrying guns, as the law now permits.

As predicted by most park rangers, the law permitting guns is going to create immense management problems, as was demonstrated this past week. Apparently two women hiking one of the trails in the Many Glacier Valley were approached by a deer that was swinging its head to and fro. This frightened the women and one of them pulled out a .38 caliber pistol and then fired it into the ground near this ferocious animal. Though it is now legal to carry firearms, it is not legal to discharge them randomly.

They've gotten used to us and no longer threaten us with raised tails.

From the way the summer is starting off, it does appear as though someone is going to be seriously injured, for most visitors cannot tell the difference between the barrel and the stock (or the pistol grips). It seems likely, too, that a bear will be wounded and then there will be real problems.

On the home front, young SKUNKS continue to explore the new environment into which they have just emerged. Of the three that we originally saw a week ago, only one seems to remain, and as you can see, we’re only prejudiced against certain types of skunks, not all.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Keeping Guns Out of Our National Parks

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Stomping Feet

©Bert Gildart:

Note, this is a blog I posted three years ago, and wanted to link to it from a new skunk  blog,  which I’ll now be posting tomorrow. Somehow this (the one you are now reading) posting got gobbled up in cyberspace so I had to go back to the original document. So I’m posting this one and, tomorrow, yet another with new and exciting skunk experiences (enjoyed yesterday) as I just know everyone will be equally as  excited about skunks as I am.  And so, from a June 2007 posting, I offer the following:

The young of all creatures are generally adorable, and that is certainly true of three baby skunks I saw this evening while riding my bike near home, about 30 miles south of Glacier National Park. Off in the bushes near a small creek known as Rose Creek, three tiny striped skunks emerged from the bushes.

Their first reaction was one of curiosity, and though I was nervous as they moved my way, I too was curious. Closer and closer they moved until one was almost standing on my feet. Suddenly it sensed something might not be quite right, so it backed off, puffed itself up and stomped its feet, a normal response when afraid. Believing this might be a good photo opportunity, I quickly peddled back home, got Janie, got camera equipment, and together we returned in our old work truck—not the good one that pulls our Airstream, and that we certainly would not want sprayed.

Because I am so fascinated with wildlife, years ago I convinced the Glacier Natural History Association they needed a mammal book, and they concurred. Here are a few paragraphs from it.

Of the four species of skunks in North America, only the striped skunk is seen locally. As skunks are nocturnal, they are not commonly seen in Glacier or Waterton. They can, however, make their presence known, for when they are disturbed or provoked, they discharge a strong smelling fluid from scent glands located beneath their tails. Occasionally local populations increase significantly, and they have to be live-trapped from buildings and then relocated. Over 40 were removed from one of Waterton’s campgrounds, and in 1974 more than 50 were removed from Apgar Campground in Glacier Park.

Paying a friendly visit.

Despite their defensive mechanism, skunks are sometimes preyed upon by coyotes or bobcats, especially during hard times. Owls—in particular, the great-horned owl—seem to be immune to these offensive odors and often prey upon skunks.Normally skunks sleep in dens during the day and do most of their hunting for insects, rodents, frogs, and snakes at night. They are not true hibernators, but during a cold spell may take long naps…

Janie and I spent an hour photographing the three baby skunks, and again they approached us, this time almost stepping on Janie’s feet. Rather than babies, however, they reminded us of teenagers, testing their way into adulthood with bluff and bluster. Again, they stomped their feet, but they never raised their tail in a way that concerned us.

Eventually, they crawled back into a log, and there they remained, for we didn’t see them again. Not everyone appreciates skunks—so we hope they remain well out of sight. We left, wishing them a good life—and a long one.

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This Time Three Years Ago:

*Top Ten National Parks  For RVers

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©Bert Gildart: Over the years Janie and I have made many boat trips from our home near Montana’s Flathead River to fish, to evaluate the immense changes in human population that have occurred, to look for one of our favorite birds – and seek out the impressive rookeries this species has  created.

In short, we’ve caught some fish, mostly pike; have agreed that the number of people establishing homes along the river is deplorable; and that for that reason the vast Great Blue Heron rookeries that once existed up and down the Flathead have greatly diminished. At least that is what we have recently suspected and was the big reason we pushed off two days ago; we wanted to find out.

Traveling up Montana’s Flathead River from our home near Bigfork, searching for Great Blue Heron Rookeries and for other story-telling features, such as this old barn.

We pointed our johnboat (one we’ve also used for months on end on the Yukon River) upstream. The wind was blowing hard and to avoid a bumpy ride we proceeded slowly, pulling back even further on the throttle as we passed the site where one man has attempted to create a huge marina despite the objection of many neighbors in this small Flathead Valley farming community.

We were among those objecting, so when we saw the owner working along the shoreline, pointing at his huge tin storage area – waving us ashore – we turned without reciprocating and traveled on. Childish, perhaps, but few wanted him here, and we most certainly agreed. He was arrogant, and we didn’t like him either.

Continuing, we passed by an old log barn that was of interest, thinking that if barns could talk this one might have quite a story.

MULTITUDE OF BIRDS

Of course we kept our eyes open for bird life. Along the way, we saw a number of ospreys, one Bald Eagle nest, and a multitude of waterfowl, such as Mallards. We even saw several Great Blue Herons, but sadly, one of the rookeries that existed several years ago had been abandoned. And so, we continued our search, powering yet further upstream.

At this time of year, Great Blue Herons adults stay busy searching for food.

Within the hour, we approached a piece of land that had been preserved by the Nature Conservancy, and it was here that we saw several herons rise from a collection of nests. We turned off the engine and listened.

Sitting quietly, we heard the chatting of several black birds and the distinct sound of nesting pair of Sandhill Cranes. We were encouraged, and paddled into the shore.

Great Blue Herons are known for the huge rookeries they create, when given a chance. In years gone by, I had counted three large rookeries, and, now, had found a new one. Some large rookeries can number 50 to 60 nests, but this one numbered but 19. Still it was impressive, and so as not to disturb the nesting birds, I pulled out an 800mm lens and then Janie and I settled in to watch.

LARGEST OF ALL HERONS

The Great Blue Heron is the largest of all North American herons and is well known for the loud croaking sound it makes just prior to flying. The species has been around a long, long time, having evolved during the Paleocene, or about 65 million years ago.

In addition to size, you also recognize the species by virtue of its long plume-like feathers sprouting from its lower neck. They are prized by some, and so the bird is at times shot by a certain group of unconscionable “sportsmen.”

As well as size and coveted feathers the stiletto-like bill is somewhat unique in that it changes during breeding season from a dull yellow to a somber orange. The lower parts of their legs also change at this time – going from grey to an orangey color.

As we watched the birds, every now and then the young would poke their heads above the rim of the nest, voicing their need for food. About the same time, one of the parents would fly off, returning 20 to 30 minutes later with food.

We photographed the birds for over an hour, and then returned to our boat. We powered further up the river, stopping near a place called Foy’s Bend, where we had seen a rookery just two years ago. Sadly, it was gone, and we had to assume the influx of more people along the river was the cause. That or perhaps the shooting!

Returning to rookery with food in gullet.

I realize that growth in the valley is inevitable, but still lament the fact that we as a species are intent on destroying our planet with oil spills, unchecked population growth, and attitudes that are destructive toward virtually all species but ourselves.

On the flip side, I am delighted I can still find simple things such as a Great Blue Heron Rookery near our home, and that some species manage to conduct themselves in the same way they have done for millions of years. Though improbable, we hope change here in the Flathead will proceed at a slower rate else the very features that lured people here initially will cease to exit.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*A Baby Pelicans Big Gulp

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©Bert Gildart: Here are a few images that should help us recall the incredible sacrifices our soldiers have made over the years. They include images commemorating soldiers from the Civil War and from WW II.

The cornfield image recalls the general location at Antietam National Battlefield where 21,000 soldiers charged through stands of corn only to be mowed down by opposing forces as they stepped into the open. The Church recalls where a brief truce was declared at Antietam so that Confederates and Union soldiers could collect their dead and administer to the wounded. Nowhere in the history of our nation have so many perished in the course of a single day.

The World War II images are both from Washington D.C. and celebrate our Capitol Parks. Both memorials are relatively new and the one of nurses recall their contributions to the military.

The night shot with the Lincoln Memorial in the back is the newest of the memorials and commemorates veterans of WW II.

Click to See Larger Version of Each Image

Over the years I’ve posted blogs about Memorial Day and about my absolute devotion to our men in uniform. For the most part, the men and women who have given their lives have fought for our country and have done so without regard to their own political beliefs, and so should be honored in that way, which I hope my blogs of the past (Blog one, blog 2) suggest.

ALUMAPALOOZA

And now let me say that I’ll be away from home for the next few days, flying on Tuesday to Jackson Ohio to give “Slide” presentations for an International Airstream gathering, organized by Rich Luhr of Airstream Life Magazine. He calls this gathering  “Alumapalooza.”

One program will concern our national parks (see: Airstream Camping tips) with much emphasis placed on Glacier National Park now celebrating its centennial. In the program I’ll also be talking about Glacier’s grizzly bears and how things have changed for the better since the tragic maulings in 1967 when two girls were fatally mauled.

The other program will concern photography, and naturally I look forward during these presentations to seeing some of the Airstream enthusiasts with whom I’ve become friends. As well, I’m hoping to make new friends at the convention and hope those with whom I share mutual interests won’t hesitate to hang around after the program. I’ll be returning home Friday, the day after my second presentation, and be reporting on the trip soon thereafter.

Looking forward to Airstream Life’s Alumapalooza 2010 — and  all the activities planned for this big rally…

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THIS THREE  YEARS AGO:

*In Defense of Dandelions

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©Bert Gildart: Montana Public TV aired its “Night of the Grizzlies” documentary May 17 and if nothing else the program has reunited many of us who played some part in the twin tragedies of 1967. Since that time I’ve visited by telephone with friends in various parts of the country who appeared in the documentary. We’ve rehashed the program, and we’ve reviewed the problems that brought about the fatal mauling of the two college women on that black night of August the 12th. What, we’ve all agreed upon, is that the producers did a magnificent job of tying together the times with the tragedy, recalling as they did the biology and legends of g-bears, the magnificent setting in which the maulings occurred — and even the fact that 1967 was “The summer of love.” (Remember, Brian, Daniela, and David?)

There is one fact, however, that keeps creeping in, and that is:  that the probability of these two maulings occurring on the same night was infinitesimal. “A trillion to one,” some said,  but that is not a figure I’m comfortable with. I think the odds were less — considerably less, and I think it important to understand the conditions and never forget, least we again create a problem situation.

GARBAGE THE PROBLEM

Here is my rationale, and it is based in part on a considerable amount of research I conducted for a major story I wrote for Smithsonian magazine about bears and bear maulings. I wrote the story in the mid 1980s after another horrible twin mauling occurred on Divide Creek, also in Glacier. In this case a young couple (Ammerman and Eberly) were camped (OK, so they were illegally camped, considering the outcome who cares ?) adjacent to the creek which was unknowingly in the path that a grizzly bear followed almost every night on its way to a garbage dump, one located just outside of the park. My research emphasized that there was little that would stop a bear intent on feeding on garbage. Highly charged electric fences didn’t work, and sadly the obstacle of two campers didn’t work either. The result was another twin tragedy.

Click to see larger image. L to R:  Kintla Lake was my first ranger station; examining rogue grizzly bear and discovering glass embedded in its teeth;  Bert Gildart with rogue bear shot at Trout Lake.

In the above four cases, garbage was always the problem, for it had created bears that were conditioned to easily obtainable food sources –  food they’d come to associate with the smell of people. As a result, these bears had lost their fear of people, or in the words of biologists, they had become “habituated.” (Note: That’s not the way things are today! Despite a larger bear population, Glacier has  fewer problems, something that should also be remembered and that I really want to emphasize!)

Though the term habituation was not familiar in 1967, bears at both Granite Park Chalet and Trout Lake were certainly habituated. They craved garbage and absolutely nothing would stand in their way.

THEY WERE DUMPING GARBAGE

Certainly this is all in retrospect and is not to imply  managers at the time would have knowingly tolerated a situation that might have lethal consequences. I say that even though both David Shea and I had reported our findings to authorities at headquarters. As the “Night of the Grizzlies” retrospective brought out, one week prior to the maulings, Shea and I had hiked to Granite Park Chalet and had witnessed a horrible spectacle in which chalet personnel were dumping garbage over the balcony to lure grizzly bears in for free food. Our report was ignored but that may have been because Glacier was experiencing one of the worst fire seasons ever, and so headquarters was mostly without a nearby permanent staff, which is where authority ultimately rested.

Garbage was also present at Trout Lake and in such immense quantities that another monster situation had been created.  I once found cans of  honey, pancake mix, cans of tuna,  rotten sandwiches — enough discarded garbage to fill 17 burlap sacks later flown out in a helicopter, and that was just for starters! In other words, here were two completely separate situations and each could have but one outcome, and that was a mauling.

If my basic assumption is ball-park correct, then statisticians should view things differently. Rather than “a trillion to one,” the odds change and are based more on the number of days during which a probable mauling might occur.

Generally, Glacier’s approximately 300 maulings (10 fatal) have occurred between the months of July and September, though there are several notable exceptions. In 1998 rangers were notified that Craig Dahl had not returned from a May 17 hike. A search was conducted and the man’s remains were found on May 20. On the other seasonal extreme,  a sow and two cubs attacked and killed photographer John Petranyi on October 3, 1992, near Granite Park Chalet. No one can say with complete certainty what prompted the attacks because no one was there. But people can speculate, saying that perhaps it was photographic aggression or perhaps the hikers had a surprise encounter with the  sow and her cubs. (Today, before you venture into the backcountry you are required to watch a video that informs on ways to avoid surprise encounters.)

MAULINGS WERE A GIVEN

Most of Glacier’s other maulings (some with black bears lured into cars for better photo ops), however, have occurred between July and September, and isn’t it acceptable  then to focus on this three-month period,  a time frame of about 90 days?  Again, I want to emphasize that I believe the 1967 maulings were a given, that under the circumstances they were absolutely inevitable! If that’s the case, the probability of a mauling occurring on August 12 at Trout Lake was 1 out of 90. The same is true as well at Granite Park Chalet; there could be no other outcome!

Click to See Larger Image:  Ranger Bill Hutchison examining area for grizzly bear sign and finding it in the form of tree markings; sometimes bears turn rogue, generally subsequent to being feed; Heaven’s Peak separates Granite Park Chalet and Trout Lake, the two of which are 8 linear miles apart.

Now let’s take a rule from statistics, one which says that the odds of two separate events occurring at the same time is the product of their individual probabilities, meaning that the likelihood of these two mauling occurring on the same night (say, August 12)  is one in 8,100.

So there you have it, and though I don’t know how mathematically sound my statistical thoughts might be, I certainly think the odds are considerably less than a “trillion to one” or “infinitesimal,” as several seemed to think. . Still, that’s the virtue of such programs and such dialog:  they start you thinking…

From a personal perspective I am delighted for the small part I was able to contribute to the program and pleased many of my images (perhaps 25) were used by director Gus Chambers. To help set the background for my thoughts I’ve included a few of those pictures (above) in this posting.  My thoughts also suggest that though conditions were ripe for these two maulings, such is no longer the case.

Today, Janie and I frequently hike in Glacier without any  concern that marauding bears are stalking us, for these are decidedly different times, as I noted in a recent magazine article about bears. As biologist/author Doug Chadwick, who also served as the program’s commentator, said: “We’re learning to live with bears, and I think they’re learning to live with us.”

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NOTE:  As a guest speaker, I’ll be showing  the above photographs (and many others, too) between June 2 and June 4 at an International Airstream Rally in Jackson, Ohio. My program will also highlight Glacier, now celebrating its centennial.  Unfortunately, I’ll be flying and not traveling in our RV, which I regret.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*Memorial Day, On a Personal Note

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©Bert Gildart:  Tonight PBS will be airing on Montana Public TV its long awaited retrospective on Night of the Grizzly. The retrospective draws on an immense number of interviews conducted over the past few years with individuals who were in some way involved with the dual tragedy which occurred August of 1967. In a single night two young women were fatally mauled in two entirely different locations in Glacier National Park. One of the maulings occurred at Granite Park Chalet, the other at Trout Lake. Peripherally, I was involved at Granite Park Chalet but at Trout Lake, I was directly involved (see link just above).

When bears link the odor of food with people, they become "habituated" -- and very dangerous.

Both maulings were the direct result of habituation, a situation in which bears have lost all fear of people. Usually that results when bears have come to associate food with people and that is precisely what happened in these two cases. At Granite Park Chalet managers were placing food just outside the chalet so guests could see bears more intimately.

GLACIER’S BACKCOUNTRY LOOKED LIKE A GARBAGE DUMP

At Trout Lake, hikers were disposing of unused food and over the years the campground had come to resemble a garbage dump. In fact, subsequent to the mauling, Chief Ranger Ruben Hart and I returned to Trout Lake in a helicopter and loaded it with 17 burlap sacks full of refuse. That was just for starters. Most other campgrounds in the park had similarly deteriorated.

Since 1989 (when I became a free-lance writer)  I have written a number of articles about bears and the problems that result from habituation. One of the stories appeared in Smithsonian while others have appeared in many outdoor publications. Because of our RV travels, I frequently write travel stories now for the RV industry, and this month’s issue of MotorHome Magazine allows me to merge my evolution of feelings about bears along with thoughts about Glacier National Park’s centennial.

MOST unhabituated bears avoid people.

Over the years I’ve also posted a number of blogs about bears, mostly favorable to the park’s handling of bears, though not all.

WOULD HAVE JOINED HUNTING PARTY

Subsequent to the maulings I would gladly have joined a hunting party intent on eliminating grizzly bears from Glacier. But with the massive clean up of Glacier backcountry and with the implementation of a Bear Management Plan, my feeling have changed, for I believe you are safer now in Glacier’s backcountry than you are driving to the park. Essentially, that is because bears are once again wild and are not habituated. In other words, hikers are now dealing with wild bears, and when you see one of the magnificent animals created by the eons you may understand why Glacier would be bereft should they disappear.

I’ll be watching the PBS program tonight at 8 pm certainly because they’ve included interviews with me, but more importantly, I want to see how others now feel about bears.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*They were “Honeyed Up”, Reflections from My Days as a Backcountry Ranger

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©Bert Gildart: Last week Janie and I parked our Airstream  at Seeley Lake while attending the annual convention of the Northwest Outdoor Writer’s Association of America (NOWA). The conference was held at the Double Arrow Resort, a beautiful facility just a few miles south of our quiet mountain camp.

During our three-day convention we took advantage of field trips, and seminars, and we visited with a number of members with whom we’ve become good friends.

Swan Mountain Range reflects in Seeley Lake

Because of harsh weather, many of the events were cancelled, but Janie and I managed to squeeze in a trip to the Blackfoot Clearwater Wildlife Management Range. Biologist Tom Toman served as an excellent guide, rehashing the history of wildlife in North America. He said the antelope is one of the few “game” mammals that actually evolved here.

BEARS EVOLVED IN ASIA

Black bears, he said, evolved in Asia and then crossed the Baring Land Mass about 200,000 years ago. He said that elk and grizzlies are relative new comers, having arrived here 20,000 years ago.

Despite the timing, both species of bears evolved from a common stock known as Ursus etruscus. Those ancient forerunners that happened to wind up in the forests learned to climb trees and so came to have more passive temperaments, characterized by today’s black bear.

Tom Toman discusses history of elk managment Blackfoot/Clearwater area.

Those that wound up in the prairies and plains of Asia had to protect their young by being aggressive. Obviously the ones that were the strongest — and most aggressive — ruled the day, and survived to perpetuate their own. Eventually, they became the mighty grizzly bear.

LIGHTROOM “MOST USEFUL” PHOTO EDITING PROGRAM

Regarding seminars, the NOWA convention offered many to include talks on book publishing, magazine writing and photography. Tim Christie, a college instructor from the University of North Idaho, said the Lightroom program was his most useful program, agreeing with two other good friends, Todd Campbell of Boise, Idaho (embedded in story about bears), and Rich Charpentier of Prescott, Arizona. Both these men are excellent photographers.

Also attending the NOWA convention were several sponsors. Jack Rich, a local area outfitter, claimed the distinction of early-day Montana ancestry, and in his case, an ancestor of much distinction. Tom’s great uncle, a Mr. Donne, was a member of the Washburn/Langford/Donne expedition of 1870 which explored an massive section of land just south of Bozeman, Montana. The region was rich with wildlife and all these critters were backdropped by incredible hot springs and immense geysers. Expedition members were so enamored that after nine months of exploration decided that this particular region should not be commercialized but rather be set aside for the enjoyment of all Americans. Image how such a suggestion would be received today! Two years later, this section of Wyoming and Montana was set aside as the world’s first national park, now known as Yellowstone National Park.

Weather wise, the spirits worked against us; still the rain and snow combination broke up soon enough for most conference attendees to return home accompanied by favorable weather.

Plagued by rain and snow, NOWA convention still kept members jumping

Some had hundreds of miles to travel, but for us, the drive was short. Seventy miles later we were back home, and our timing was good, for immediately upon our return snow commenced falling once again and really hasn’t stopped. But there’s a flip side, and that is that the mountains  now glow and have a primordial look that reminds us why we continue to make Montana our sanctuary, our home when we’re not traveling.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*EIGHTEEN YEAR RETROSPECTIVE

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©Bert Gildart: Nineteen years ago today, Janie and I were married at my sister’s in Poughkeepsie, New York.  Somehow Forrest, my brother-in-law, managed to obtain  reservations for us at the World Trade Center where we stayed the night of May 4th, 1991.  Janie and I both enjoy Broadway hits, so that night we took in CATS. As well, we dined in the restaurant once located at the top of one of the  Twin Towers.

Obviously we’re saddened that we can no longer return to the World Trade Center. But our sadness is obscured by the immense tragedy of lives lost subsequent to the bombing on 9/11 and the way in which the lives of so many others were forever altered.

We’re reminded of the World Trade Center certainly because we honeymooned there, but also because of the recent car bombing attempt in Times Square.  From the Internet, I’ve just learned that an alleged perpetrator has been apprehended. Now, if we could only bring Osama Bin Laden to justice, alive  — or dead!

Nineteen years of travel since departing the World Trade Center, much with our Airstream

SHIFTING TO UPBEAT NOTE

On a more upbeat note, since departing New York and returning to Montana, our lives have been made incredibly rich with many travels, and for those interested in a sampling, simply click on the months located in the archives to the right of this post.

A few highlights might include experiences in the Arctic (boating Adventure) and the travels throughout Canada (Kayaking Bay of Fundy) and the U.S. (Dry Tortugas) in our Airstream.

We are now accepting congratulatory  thoughts.

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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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Young ram threading its way through cactus forest.

©Bert Gildart: The drama was high pitched, almost as exciting as watching two rams collide during mating season. But this contest was between a huge barrel cactus and a single ram, and if you’ve ever examined the sword-like thorns on the species, you’d understand the challenge.

According to Eric Hansen (a photographer friend I’ve mentioned often), who documented the entire episode, the ram trotted over to the barrel cactus, and then showing complete indifference to the species’s enormous thorns, it bashed the plant with the curve of its horns, partially splitting it in two.

Though Eric (also with us last year  in Death Valley) later saw thorns embedded in the lips and horns of the ram, the young ram seemed indifferent. These guys are tough, or the rewards are too great to bypass. Perhaps the later, for the ram continued its battle with the plant, slashing down with one of its sharp hooves to expose the center and the succulent pulp, which is apparently delicious, for the ram immediately began to feast.

ENDANGERED BIGHORN

The drama occurred several days ago, and when Eric asked if I like to return to the setting, I jumped at the chance. The probability of seeing such a sight again, we both knew, was slim, but that was OK. Much rain has been falling and various plants are putting forth incredible displays in Anza Borrego Desert State Park, so there was that. And, then, who knows? Perhaps we’d run across more desert bighorn sheep, and that’s always special, for the subspecies (cremnobates) — the one inhabiting this portion of the desert — is endangered.

L to R: Ram completely relaxed; ram, showing growth patterns in horns; Phacelia; barrel cactus now in bloom.

Cremnobates has horns that vary enough from the other desert bighorns to warrant designation as a separate subspecies. Current estimates are that less than 600 remain in the US, with some estimates as low as 335. Approximately 200 of the remaining sheep are located in Anza-Borrego Desert State Park. Others range north to Palm Desert and south into the Baja Pennisula.

A LAMB CALLED “HOPE”

Once the subspecies was common throughout this entire region, but when you have a region that values golf courses more than it does wildlife, animals such as the magnificent bighorn don’t stand a chance. Right now there are over 100 golf courses in — or immediately surrounding — the Palm Desert area alone, and that is ridiculous. Bob Hope once lived near the area and just before he died, he was told by research biologists that because of his involvement in trying to perpetuate the species, they wanted to name one of the rescued Cremnobates after him. “What shall we call it?” they asked. Without hesitation, the famous comedian said “Hope, and for all the obvious reason.”

Fortunately there are areas such as Anza Borrego that safeguard the species and shortly after starting on our hike up Palm Canyon, Eric and I saw two rams thudding down the flanks of Indian Head Mountain. As they scurried down they exhibited all the sure-footed traits characteristic of the species, quickly crossing the trail in front of us and then scampering up the opposite hill — another rocky slope.

Profusion of brittle brush

Though our progress was considerably slower, we followed them, and eventually their route took us back to the exact area in which Eric had watched the battle of the ram and the barrel cactus. On this day, they ignored the other barrel cacti, but apparently found the area satisfied their other needs, meaning it was safe. We stayed with them for several hours and they tolerated us, alternating their activities between wending through cactus groves and  perching on the huge boulders that enabled them to survey all that surrounded them. Occasionally one would rise and nibble on a creosote bush, somehow avoiding the thorns that seem to occupy everything that grows out here.

FLOWERS ARE EXQUISITE

Though most of our day was spent photographing the sheep, it was impossible to bypass the many wild flowers. Species that predominated included the brittle brush, phacilia, brown-eyed evening primrose, and the desert chicory. As well, a number of cacti were blooming to include the fishhook cactus and the barrel cacti. One is small the other large, but both produce flowers that are extraordinarily colorful.

This is a wonderful season to be in the desert and we count our blessings for the good fortune to be here when the sheep sightings are still common and the flowers are so gorgeous. Our only hope is that Hope – or most likely, now, its descendants – continues to flourish.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Sands That Sing

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©Bert Gildart: Throughout the years, Goodyear Tires have probably been used in many ways, but perhaps the most unique is the use an abandoned tractor tire is seeing just outside California’s  Sonny Bono Wildlife Refuge. Right now, just a few miles from the refuge located near the Salton Sea, a pair of burrowing owls has laid eggs, incubated their young and seen them to the fledgling stage.

IN WAKE OF HABITAT LOSS, BURROWING OWLS FACE UNUSUAL NESTING CHOICES, IN THIS CASE A GOODYEAR TRACTOR TIRE

Eric Hansen, an RV photographer friend whose acquaintance I made years ago through the Outdoor Writer’s Association of America, spotted them several days ago with his wife Sue. Happily they shared the finding with me and yesterday, Eric and I departed Pegleg and made the hour drive to the Salton Sea, where the owls were still surveying their world from beneath the side of the tire.

GOODYEAR TRACTOR TIRE

The choice of nesting sites is not one burrowing owls would naturally choose, but was made essentially because farmers have eliminated all species of mammals that create burrows, such as prairie dogs and the various ground squirrels.

Anthony & Marguerite Breda, full time RVers and wildlife refuge volunteers.

Burrowing owls need burrows, but when they cannot find appropriate holes have to rely on something else, in the case the recess created by a discarded Goodyear tractor tire.

In some places wildlife managers are increasing the nesting habitat of burrowing owls by inserting plastic piping into the ground.

This, according to Anthony and Marguerite Breda, a couple who has been volunteering at wildlife refuges for about eight years, is helping.

Of course, they point out that natural habitat is best, and that is what the Sonny Bono Wildlife refuge still offers burrowing owls, something Marguerite knows about. Each morning she sees several pair nesting in the old fashion way — in the burrows created by the various ground squirrels.

ONE OF THE SMALLEST OF OWLS

Burrowing owls are one of the smallest species of owls, standing but nine inches-tall. It has a short tail, very long legs, and weighs but 4 oz.  When the owl sees something approaching its home, it bobs up and down a few times, and then dives into its burrow. Here, the owls breed in late winter, and the females lay around 6-8 eggs. Eggs take one month to hatch, and young owls remain in the nest for about 42 days before leaving.

Burrowing owls on Sonny Bono Wildlife Refuge, in natural habitat -- a burrow abandoned by a ground squirrel.

Burrowing owls are found in many places in the West and I’ve photographed them on the Charles M. Russell Wildlife Refuge in Montana where they still find nesting opportunities from the holes which prairie dogs have abandoned. The ones shown here were photographed with Nikon Camera equipment and in several cases, an 800mm lens, which placed me well away from these two nests, that is the natural nest and the abandoned Good Year tire.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Desert Five Spot & Function of Beauty

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©Bert Gildart: Once every five to six years, California’s Anza Borrego Desert State Park is deluged with rain water and if it pools, a miracle occurs. Embedded in the playa of Ancient Lake Borrego, the lake from which Clark Lake (also dry) eventually derived, tiny crustaceans break free of their cysts. Specifically, the cysts have enabled early stages of the tiny fairy shrimp to survive desiccating winds and the summer temperatures that often exceed 120 degree Fahrenheit.

Here in Anza Borrego, tiny shrimp are now finding their place in the comos

That’s what’s has recently happened at this 50,000 year old lake bed. Rains have been exceptional, particularly in recent months. And now, with yet another downpour last week, the shriveled and dried up surface that until recently comprised Lake Clark, has soaked up enough moisture so that the phenomena has occurred. Rains have  softened the cysts; and they have erupted; and you can now see the half-inch-long fairy shrimp powering along the edge of this ancient lake now slightly watered.

ADAPTATIONS TO LIFE

Though difficult to see, fairy shrimp perform all the functions of life we consider normal, they but do so with structures that are certainly different from those with which we are familiar. They have a thorax which consists of 11 segments, and leaflike legs. And here is where you find the breathing organs as well as  lobes for paddling. You’ll see the shrimp if you take the time to study the water’s edge, and though they won’t be seting records for speed, they sure can move.

Look even closer and if one of these tiny creatures stops you might even see the animal’s two sets of antennae. One is extra long and it is used for grasping females during mating. Later, eggs fall to the surface mud where they might sink slightly and then develop to an early embryo stage, remaining dormant then until the next wet season. Here at Clark Lake that could be another five years down the road when heavy rains fall once again. At that time, eggs will hatch about 30 hours after rains fill the pools.

ENDANGERED CREATURES

Though the United States hosts a number of different species of fairy shrimp, five species are endangered. Declines are the result of habitat loss from agricultural and urban development, alteration of wetland by draining – and from off-road vehicle activity.

CLICK TO SEE ENLARGED IMAGE AND FOR EXTENDED CAPTION. L to R: Ancient Clark Lake, fairy shrimp, bicycling  to Clark Lake, proof that fines are not sufficient to curtail activities of a certain segment of society.

In Anza Borrego off-road use is tolerated in specific areas, but a certain segment of the group flagrantly ignore signs. Their actions serve to give all in the group a bad name, which is unfortunate, as most in  are law abiding. Sadly there was much evidence this past week of such activity immediately adjacent to a posted sign at Clark Lake. (See photos of JUST ONE example.)

Fairy shrimp serve as an important cog in the food chain, providing sustenance for a variety of shore birds. Photographing the species requires specialized equipment and much patience, but I  enjoy looking at them as they remind me of the extraordinary adaptations life has made to endure under the most capricious of circumstances.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Spring Awakening Death 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: During the Saturday night dance at the Slabs in southwestern California, which is nestled between a half-submerged wasteland of derelict buses and vehicles known as Bombay Beach and an environmental catastrophe known as the Salton Sea, Janie and I were paid an immense compliment. “You all,” said Solar Mike, “are Slabbers.”

The compliment followed a rousing song played by a band that might have performed here when “Alexander Supertramp,” the young man featured in the book and movie Into the Wild… lived here. He was befriended by Leonard Knight, the man who has spent the last 20 years of his life building Salvation Mountain. Last year I wrote about him in one of my blogs and was glad to see that although the torrential rains of last week slowed him down it didn’t destroy him.

Leonard Wright, architect of Salvation Mountain whom I interviewed last year.

Solar Mike paid us the complement after his splendid accompaniment on his harmonica with a local band. Upward would go his head when the band struck high notes and then down — when the band launched in some blues. And while he played, Janie and I danced, and immediately after his last performance he came over. “Wow,” he said. “You all dance like Slabbers. You’d fit right in.”

WE WERE SLABBING

No question, we were having a ball, and Mike was laughing, but the fact of the matter is that Slab City caters to folks from virtually every conceivable style of life you can imagine. For some it is the end of the road. Here’s where a large number of people come to park their run-down RVs at absolutely no cost. They have no other place to go, and all they need here are a few solar panels and a shovel to scoop out a big “gopher” hole.

CLICK TO SEE LARGER VERSION AND EXTENDED CAPTIONS. L to R: Slab City library, Christopher, Saturday night dance, “Solar Mike,” Don examining library books.

When the “gopher hole” is filled “residents” cover it and then the sun bakes out the odor. Several of the occupants include two sisters (now 91 and 92), and for them this is certainly the end of the road.  Still  they seem to love their life as it is.   Many fit into a similar category and it even includes a few PhDs who must have taken a wrong turn somewhere in another life.

Not everyone, of course, is at wit’s end, and Solar Mike is certainly not one of them. About 20 years ago Mike departed the state of Washington where he’d been employed as a social worker. Recognizing a need, Mike settled in with his Motorhome, began adding solar panels (they now number about 40) to his own evolving structure and began accepting business. Today, that business has garnered him a reputation as the Guru of everything that can be operated by solar power.

ENERGY TO MEET OUR NEEDS

For us this is a repeat visit. Last year we made the two hour drive from Pegleg (where we’re still based) and had Mike install a single solar panel which wasn’t quite enough. This time we sat down with Mike and reviewed our actual usage, which we had not adequately described previously. Mike concluded that we needed a three stage charger rather than the factory installed one. We also needed another panel and yet another battery. Though Airstream builds a good unit, we believe they equip their units for those who primarily want to stay in RV parks. That’s not us. Essentially, we stay in national parks and in out-of-the-way places — places that offer but few amenities.

And, so, after one month with us at Pegleg, Don and Nancy depart, leaving after an exhilarating weekend in the Slabs. (Note our new solar panels.)

After assessing our needs, Mike then turned the work over to several of his employees. One was a man named Christopher who had become an astute observer on life. He believes that Janie and I are better off in our Airstream than fifty percent of the rest of the world, and as we thought about it concluded he is probably right. Here in the Slabs, the analogy was appropriate, as a number of the people here are destitute.

LIBRARY AT THE SLABS

Yet another person whose life has impacted this eclectic community was the librarian who passed away about seven years ago at age 57. Her name was Peggy Sadlik and if you visit the library you’ll see her grave marker on the north side of the library, buried beneath a slab of concrete. She preferred to be called Rosalie and she began the library about 1995 by adding a few books to a shack build by a local character known as Goldman. Originally she stipulated that if you took a book you left a book, but now, because the library has grown, if you see something you like you can simply take it. The library is open 24 hours a day, but you’ll need a flashlight if you visit at night.

We spent three days at the Slabs and have to say we enjoyed it once again. We enjoyed the notion that there are still some places in the U.S. where you can pretty much do as you will. Of course there’s a down side, but if you can handle the problems that must arise from time to time then you can carve out a respected niche, one so respected that when such a man tells you that you could be a Slabber… why you believe you’re among the chosen.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Lessons From Yaquitepec

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©Bert Gildart: Beneath a rare Blue Moon, we Peg Leggers celebrated a joyous New Year’s Eve. Blue moons as some may recall are so named when the second full moon occurs in the same month as the first full moon, which is, of course, rare; hence the expression “Once in a blue moon.”

From Peg Leg and beneath a Blue Moon, we Peg Leggers wish all a Happy New Year!

The fire is set between both Nancy and Don’s Airstream and ours, and the moon is unaltered. To create the shot I upped the ISO to 1200 to create a proper exposure for the moon. Then I entered setting for the strobe lights that would enable me to properly expose us Peg Leggers and our warm fire, which felt so very good setting as the temperatures dipped to the low 40s.

SO HAPPY NEW YEARS FROM US PEG LEGGERS TO FRIENDS AND FAMILY WIDE AND FAR. MAY THIS BE THE BEST YEAR EVER! LOVE TO ALL.

Bert & Janie

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Tampa More Naturally

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MERRY CHRISTMAS

Many of our friends have experienced great difficulties this past year, suggesting that we must make each new day count for something, and enjoy it to the fullest. Those to whom I’m referring know who they are, and Janie and I wish them only the very best.

Christmas as seen from the Courthouse in Prescott, Arizona

Fortunately, all the children in our extended family seem to be doing well, and are toughing out these difficult economic times. Finding or sustaining jobs has at times been challenging, and one of our children spent months in a remote Alaskan settlement making excellent wages as a lead carpenter. Another has taken on a job as bus drivers while the others have continued on in such fields as teaching, counseling, Real Estate sales or in the various trades. Janie and I are equally proud of them all and hope their luck continues and then flourishes.

Much of our year has been spent on the road and it began with a departure on a snowy winter day from our home near Bigfork, Montana, then a series of prolonged stops, the first of which was Death Valley. Other prolonged camps included ones in Padre Island, and Chiricahua.

A harmony of colors and implied suggestion of Peace and Good Will

From the Southwest we towed our Airstream to the Natchez Trace and spent time with my good friend Ed Anderson and his delightful family — where we cooked up a Plumb Southern cuisine. From the Natchez Trace we made a long drive to the Northeast and visited Janie’s children and grandchildren. Certainly, that was a most powerful highlight for us both. We visited with my sister, Nancy, and my brother-in-law, Forrest. They’ve just been blessed with a grandchildren. Good job Joel and Becca!

We then scurried back home in May and spent several months preparing for our trip to Alaska, where I had a number of assignments, one to cover the World Eskimo Indian Olympics. While there we also  managed to see old friends, mostly those who live in far flung Native villages. We particularly enjoyed seeing Trimble Gilbert and Kenneth and Caroline Frank, all of Arctic Village. We enjoyed seeing Ernie Peter of Old Crow and remember the many kindnesses all showed us when we worked in their various villages.

Whie in Fairbanks, we enjoyed a boat trip with Karen of the Fairbanks Department of Tourism and her husband Willie, and then a trip over the Top of the World Highway with a memorable stop  in Chicken, Alaska. Top of the World concludes in the historic mining town of Dawson City, where we learned more about one of my heros, Robert Service, who wrote Cremation of Sam Sam McGee. From Dawson we drove to Skagway, learned about powers of Yukon Jack with Adam and Sue. We met Buckwheat and enjoyed his professional renditions of Robert Service poetry.

And now we’re back at Peg Leg, having  just recently spent time with photographer friend Rich Charpentier  in Prescott, Arizona, which is where I photographed the Court House building, all decorated with brilliantly colored lights. What was particularly moving about this historic old town is that a lavishly Christmas Tree stood all decked out in garlands of color — and the combination of the decorated tree and the Courthouse  reminded us we are all part of the family of man and that most in this family prefer to interact with cheer and feelings of well being toward one another.

We hope this year has been a good one for you and would like to take this small space to wish all a very Merry Christmas.

Bert and Janie Gildart

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Merry Christmas From Tampa, Florida

©Bert Gildart: Sixty-eight years ago to the day, I was at Pearl Harbor and though I was only a year old and obviously have no memory of the events that unfolded that horrible day in Hawaii, I have heard the story from my parents who certainly do remember the horrors. It was a Sunday, and my dad and mom had placed me outside in a baby carriage, when they heard what sounded like thunder. It was, of course, the Japanese, and they were attacking America, “A day of infamy,” as President Franklin Roosevelt would soon say. At the time my dad was a captain, four years out of West Point, and after securing my mom and me, he quickly reported to his post at Schofield Barracks.

The rest of what happened that day is recalled by many, but here is a very personalized account told by one of my mother’s friends, Mrs. Rosalie Folda. If she is still alive, she is probably 95 and I have been unable to contact her. Because she sent her write-up of that horrible day to friends I believe she intended for it to be shared, and with that hope in mind, have extracted paragraphs from her wonderful narration. It is very similar to the stories my parents — and all their friends — have shared with us over the many years since that day exactly 68 years ago.

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… About 8 a.m. on Sunday morning, December 7, 1941, we were awakened by sounds of low-flying airplanes. Jerry [that was her husband, Capt. Folda] and I assumed that there must be an air force exercise in progress at nearby Wheeler Field. As Jerry walked down the hall toward the rear of our house, he heard a plane flying so low that he stepped to the door of the patio to look. At the moment he could grasp that our house was being strafed by enemy aircraft, bullets began ricocheting off the flagstones of the patio floor. The island was under attack!

Jerry dressed quickly in combat gear and prepared to leave for his headquarters. I still recall that before he left, he asked me to kneel in prayer with him to ask God for our safety…

…Some women [my mother with me] drove into the fields surrounding Schofield Barracks and sought refuge among the high sugar cane plants…

The hours passed quietly, but we all felt restless and tense. Late in the evening six buses arrived in convoy and we were boarded. Was another attack at hand? Where were we going? The drivers smashed the headlights of the buses’ and as midnight approached we started out in pitch darkness. We rode a short distance when suddenly our bus swerved off the road and into a ditch. A soldier ordered us to get on the floor of the bus and to protect our small children.

“Out of the blackness a horrid scene lit up the night… The harbor was grimly illuminated by flames, and great columns of smoke from burning ships choked the sky… Soon we were to know that over 1,100 men on the Battleship Arizona alone had gone to their death that morning….

We lived quietly sharing a house with a close friend and her baby… Truly we were at war. My husband had become a combat soldier… he belonged to his country now, not his family…

The women and children lived in blackout conditions… food rationing and guard escort everywhere… Finally, on February 28, 1942 we boarded the Honolulu Clipper … for San Francisco…

[My mom and I remained for a year more in Pearl Harbor.]

My Jerry returned home to Maryland three and one-half years later… He carried grave scars of the spirit from years of war that the ensuing years of peace never really healed.”

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Note: The experiences of my mom and dad were similar to those of the Foldas, except my mom and I remained in Hawaii for yet another year, my mom taking a job as a secretary. Later, the Foldas and my family were stationed at many of the same posts. My dad served 30 years and retired as a general. Sadly he died five years ago, and I hope that the service he provided throughout his distinguished career is not forgotten. And, so, too, I hope that the service provided by today’s men and woman in uniform remains appreciated.

A FEW OF THE OTHER POSTS I’VE MADE ABOUT BATTLEFIELDS:

*Valley Forge

*Memorial Day

*Antietiam

©Bert Gildart: It’s a long way from my son’s home in Kalispell, Montana, to Emmonak, Alaska, but that’s where David worked this past summer. Though he initially took the job because there was so very little employment locally for those in the construction field, as it turned out, not only was the summer profitable, but as well, it was a great adventure, one he may try to repeat. Perhaps there are some lessons to be learned about rolling with the times.

Emmonak, Alaska, five miles from the Bering Sea

Emmonak is located near the mouth of the Yukon River near the Bering Sea, and that’s a long way from anywhere. The Yukon is several thousand miles long, and Janie and I know a little something about it. Several years ago, we loaded up our john boat, shoved off from Circle, Alaska, and boated about 2,100 miles in the course of four months.

Our journey took us about 300 miles down the Yukon to Rampart, then back up river to Fort Yukon where the Porcupine River converges with the Yukon. We then boated 350 miles to Old Crow, Yukon Territory, a Gwich’in Indian village, where I was gathering materials for various stories about the lives of subsistence hunters… This is big country, and though we covered many miles on the Yukon, we were still about 500 miles from  Emmonak. Because there are no roads to Emmonak, boat travel or bush plane are the only ways to get there.

Originally, Emmonak was settled by the Yup’ik Eskimo, a group that would hunt the winter ice for seals. But white people moved in, and when they did, roads were needed, meaning gravel to shore up the mud plastering grounds of this delta village. But the only gravel is located about 100 miles upstream around Mountain House, another Yukon River village. Each season that’s where barges go, returning with loads to be dumped along the roads of Emmonak. Maintaining Emmonak is a constant struggle.

VILLAGE STRUGGLES

Several years ago, the village had a particular series of problems. In the winter of 2008-2009, a combination of a cold winter and increased fuel prices led to economic hardship. Due to a collapse in local king salmon fisheries in 2008 residents were unable to generate enough economic capital to buy increased amounts of heating oil at higher prices. On January 10, 2009 Nicholas C. Tucker, Sr., a town elder, circulated a letter asking for aid. The letter was circulated by Alaska bloggers, where it was picked up by national media.

CLICK TO SEE LARGER IMAGE AND COMPLETE CAPTION. L to R: George, the chef; David with Coho salmon; main street of Emmonak; David and George, the chef; home for the summer.

Emmonak is small, about 800 people, and the village is considered “dry.” Kwik’Pak Fishery operates a business there, netting and processing salmon. That requires out buildings, and the talents of a skilled carpenter, which after many years in the business my son certainly is. The business also requires the talents of welders, mechanics and of a professional cook, and Kwik’Pak, at least according to David, was very lucky in that they were able to hire “George,” a Romanian cook who has worked in some of the world’s best restaurants. Once he worked on a boat which ran into some bad luck. The ship sank and “George,” said David, relating the story to me,  “had to tread water for twenty-four hours.”

David also says that his crew of about 12 was lucky, for they dined like kings — all on meals prepared by George.

MOOSE AND SEAL HUNTING

David worked seven days a week, but still had a little time off to join natives as they hunted for moose and seals. He said he wished he’d had a camera with him when the Eskimos tried to spear seals in the traditional way. Nevertheless, he still came back with some excellent story-telling images.

Though no one has a crystal ball, David said he’d very much like to return, for not only did he benefit from the hard work, but he says he also had quite an adventure.

“You bet, I’d like to go back,” said David. “It’s a different world, and I enjoyed learning about another culture and the business of catching fish.”

Seems like in this season of rough economic times, you do what you must do, and sometimes it really works well.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Photo Shop

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©Bert Gildart: Happy Halloween!

But who you may wonder is inside the trunk? Well, it could be one of my fishing buddies who consistently out fish me–and I concluded, well, enough is enough.

But whoever it is, we just wanted you to know that we are also thinking of YOU.

So make sure you stop by our house tonight. After all the excitement of Trick or Treating, we have just the PRESCRIPTION to assure that you will sleep and sleep and sleep…

HAPPY HALLOWEEN--Include us in your Trick or Treat route. We have just the handout to put you at rest

EAST COAST GOES ALL OUT

Though Halloween stirs the imagination of everyone, no where it seems does it manifest itself as it does in the East, and that includes places such as Nova Scotia, where we took in a very popular GRAVEYARD WALK. Everywhere we’ve traveled throughout the East in autumn, pumpkins, skeletons, and spider webs decorated front porches. Farms, in fact, are devoted to the production of oversize pumpkins, such as the one Griffin Polga is attempting to heft in one of the images shown below.

CLICK ON EACH IMAGE TO SEE A LARGER VERSION AND FOR A COMPLETE CAPTION

In Sturbridge, Massachusetts, Old Strubridge Village produces huge pumpkins as well it decorates the front lawn of civic buildings, while residents follow suit.

But then there’s the Connelly family in New Jersey along Shades of Death Road and they take Halloween to dazzling heights. For many years they’ve been hosting an annual Halloween party, and each year the celebration just gets better and better.

HAND CREEP ACROSS THE FLOOR

Two years ago their entire double garage was walled off in black paper. Suspended from the ceiling were complete skeletons-or structures that appeared to be skeletons. On the floor a battery-operated hand crept across the cement, while in one particularly dark corner hung yet another skeleton, and when you passed, it began to speak.

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Over 70 people attended, presumably to help the disembodied spirits of all those who had died throughout the preceding year find a living body that they might possess. Originally, that was a big part of the reason for celebrating Halloween in such a bizarre way.

So how will we celebrate it here in Montana? Stop by, we’d be ever so happy to show you. We have just the right PRESCRIPTION to put you at rest.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Learning From the Acadians and Their Tragic Deportation

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