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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LET THE ADVENTURE BEGIN. The Italian fashion magazine IO Donna paid Janie and me a very substantial day rate for posing models with our Airstream.

©Bert Gildart: With the odometer on our 2004 Dodge Diesel engine about to push past the 100,000 mile mark, and our second Airstream logging in half that number of miles, it seems like a retrospection of our travels as Airstream enthusiasts might be in order. Pictures you see here are from all corners of North America and if you want a precise location, click on each image and that will link you to a larger version and to an extended photo caption.

For the past seven years Janie and I have been on the road, searching for stories, many of which have appeared in RV magazines, such as Airstream Life and those produced by the Affinity Group.

Others have appeared in publications that produce conservation stories such as The Wilderness Association, Christian Science Monitor, Native Peoples Magazine, National Wildlife. As well, we’ve written a number of books for Falcon Press and other publishers. To say that we cherish the lifestyle is an understatement. WE LOVE LIFE ON THE ROAD.

ARMY BRATS

Both Janie and I are army brats so it is safe to say we came by our nomadic makeup honestly. By the time I was a senior in high school, I had traveled in most of the European countries and many of the states in the U.S. and have never grown tired of the lifestyle.

When Charles Kuralt was alive I tuned into his “On The Road” each Sunday morning, always lusting for his way of life. And, of course, we read works by some of our favorite authors and took much of what they had to say to heart. For instance, Robert Louis Stevenson once observed:

“For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.”

That’s a fairly accurate summation of our penchants, but I would add that we also like to get something out of our travels, and that comes from reflecting at night about what we’ve seen – and also from the many people we’ve met. And that’s something easy to do with an Airstream: No matter where we are, people want to know how we like our trailer, and many ask if they can take a peak inside.

PEOPLE WE’VE MET — A FEW BUMPY ROADS

We’ve met wonderful people in the course of our travels. In Quebec we met a Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman in Old Quebec City who before retiring and purchasing a 34-foot Classic had ventured to Old Crow and some of the other remote areas Janie and I traveled to in the Yukon Territory by boat. Amazing to us how people who own Airstreams always seem to have been afflicted by the adventure bug.

L to R: National Parks around the country: Mojave National Preserve, Shenandoah, Apostle Islands National Lake Shore, Cabot Drive.

We met a couple from Maine whose doctor told him his outlook for the future was not good, so he purchased an Airstream and is now touring the country. Thankfully, the doctor has backed off on his first assessment.

Some of our excursions have taken us to places we never intended to go. Once, while trying to find the retirement home in which my dad lived we were skirting Washington D.C. and took a wrong turn.  Our mistake took us along River Side Road, and eventually down Massachusetts Road and around several traffic circles — all during rush hour. Try pulling an Airstream there!

Eventually, we arrived at Knollwood, a military retirement home near Rock Creek Park in the Capitol City, and because we were there to help my dad, managers allowed us to set up in their rather exclusive parking lot. But then, why not?

L to R: Pumpkins, Aerial of Airstream Convention, Natchez Trace, Oregon Pipe National Monument

On the other side of the continent, in Kenniwick, Washington, once Janie had to be hospitalized, and doctors there said they had a special place all picked out for people in our situation. Janie said that being able to look out the hospital window and see the Airstream was very reassuring.

BLOGS AN OUTGROWTH OF TRAVEL

Since 2006 we’ve been posting blogs about our Airstream travels and those blogs have covered Alaska, Canada — to include the Maritimes — all four corners of the United States and dozens of destinations in between. Making short forays from our trailer we’ve watched as the sun’s first rays touched Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park; met Secretary of Interior Gayle Norton just after she dedicated the new Indian Memorial at Little Bighorn Battlefield; visited the Dry Tortugas south of Key West, Florida; watched whales in Nova Scotia; traveled the Alaska Highway. Last year the Italian fashion magazine, IO Donna, paid us a day rate of over $500 so that they could pose models in front of our trailer. Andrea, the photographer, said “Airstreams have cachet.”

Out-of-the-way-places. L to R: Natchez Trace National Parkway, Padre Island, Dawson City, Jasper National Park.

Since owning our Airstream we’ve traveled to every state except Hawaii, meaning we may at times have lived more by Robert Louis Stevenson’s observation then we should have. And that brings to mind another travel quote, which I found in James Michener’s book, The Drifter. Wrote Michener:

“The fool wanders, the wise man travels.” Now that’s something I want to think about.

We bought our first Airstream in 2002, a 25-foot Safari which we kept for two years. We sold it because we soon realized we needed something a little larger to facilitate work, so we traded up to a 28-foot Safari with slideout. For us, it has proven ideal and were sorry to learn that the model was discontinued as it seems so perfect. In one corner, there’s a fold-up table and I use it as an office. To make it work a little better, I added an inverter into the electrical system above my head so that I can work with or without hookups, the later of which we try and avoid.

EQUIPMENT

Because the outdoor is our beat, we carry kayaks, bicycles, backpacks and day packs. And because we travel so much and want to do so under the safest of conditions, we added a Hensley Hitch, which has absolutely eliminated all sway. In fact, once as we were approaching Glacier National Park from the east, we found ourselves in a brutal windstorm. Gusts, we later learned, had been blasting us at 70 mph. Still, there was no sway, but that’s not to say we weren’t looking for shelter, which we found behind the barn of a most gracious member of the Blackfeet Indian tribe in Browning, Montana. The man even offered to hook us up. “Like your trailer,” said the man.

Travels can all season and extreme places. L to R: Minnesota produce big fish, winter in Yellowstone, New Brunswick covered bridge, Out Banks of North Carolina.

Airstreams have been our homes for about 9/12^th of each year (we’re not quite full-timers) and we have had only a few minor complaints, and not all of them derived from our Airstream. For instance, we bought a Dodge ¾ ton and with the Cummings Diesel engine it is wonderfully powered for our needs. Pulling an Airstream we get about 15 miles per gallon, driving about 60, meaning that the combination might be good for those who think Green.

Beware, however, if you buy a Dodge, and note that the wheels stick out beyond the vehicle’s body. If you don’t want dings on your trailer, purchase the aftermarket wheel flares, your first line of defense against flying rocks. As a second line, add a solid mud flap that stretches down from the rear bumper the width of the rear tires and almost touches the ground.

AIRSTREAM COMPLAINTS? MAYBE ONE

But all Airstreams have a small but easily remedied construction problem. When driving on gravel roads (unavoidable as much as we travel) rocks kick up and will invariably break the petcock controlling water in your fresh-water storage tank. Initially, we had that problem but an RV dealer corrected the situation by building a small shroud that hinged around the petcock. When we bought our second, we had the dealer duplicate the shroud installed on the first. I mention the condition as we’ve met so many others in the course of our travels who were not so protected and found themselves without water. They were grateful to learn about our remedy.

Family camping and Waiting out a Storm: L to R: Flathead Valley, January at Montana’s Monida Pass.

Recently we’ve attended to a number of normal maintenance concerns. We purchased new tires for the Airstream, had brakes repaired and replaced, had our truck thoroughly checked out and believe we’re ready for our next 100,000 miles. Though we’ve covered so much, there is so much more to see. America is a big place. Thoreau never ventured far from his Walden Pond because he felt he had not learned all his area had to offer. That’s a good philosophy, particularly in these new times, and we may take some of his advice and apply it to our travels.

In so doing, we may also listen to Charles Kuralt.

“Thanks to the Interstate Highway System,” said the veteran traveler, “it is now possible to travel across the country from coast to coast without seeing anything.”

Because we so thoroughly enjoy visiting national parks, we’ll apply his advice and spend less time driving and more time at each of the many areas that have so inspired us. That should work, for with our Airstream we have a mini apartment, and find that we can be comfortable in the snows of Yellowstone in the winter and heat of Death Valley in the spring.

"And here's to the next 100,000 miles."

And now, in about a month, we’ll be striking out, gathering, among other things, images for our next 100,000 mile retrospective on Airstream travel, which you should expect to see several years down the road.

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TWO YEARS AGO AT THIS TIME:

*The Raven, My Good Luck Bird

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©Bert Gildart: Several weeks ago I reported on grizzly bears in Montana’s Glacier National Park, mentioning specifically the sow grizzly bear that park rangers had to kill about a month ago.

Smelling the roses. Sow grizzly seen on way to Iceberg Lake, an image that has sold well for me.

Since that time, park employees (seasonals and permanents) have met and attempted to resolve differences regarding management procedures. Most seasonals still believe the campground in questions should have been closed and that rangers should not have killed the bear. Permanents say elimination was necessary. Certainly debates are healthy, and probably out of it all management skills required to keep bears wild will only improve.

LEARNING BY OSMOSIS

Least anyone get the impression that I am the voice of seasonal employees let me dispel that notion right away. What happens is that as a former seasonal employee, I have many friends who still work in the park, and often we get together in groups for parties.

For example, this past week I had dinner with Chris McEwan, an old friend now from Florida who worked with me in Glacier in the early ‘60s. He was staying with Fritz Royer, another friend, and once we all worked on blister rust control (a disease that attacks white pine trees), and did so for a number of years.

Though Chris and Fritz are now lawyers, (Chris was once the Flathead’s Deputy Country Attorney) both have kept up with the grizzly situation in Glacier through friends employed in the park. We’re all still very much interested in bears – and concerned about how to keep them wild and out of the news.  However, I generally tend to believe we should err on the side of human safety, and fall back on my background of experiences in making this statement.

As one of the few rangers who has ever had to deal with all the horrible consequences of a fatal mauling, I believe park managers should consider every tool needed to protect people from habituated bears. But I cheer loudly for the bears, and want assurances that today’s park rangers and biologists will be thoroughly trained. Furthermore, when independent biologists say tools exist to reestablish the wild in previously habituated bears I want to be able to retain hope that those techniques will be considered. Beyond that anyone who visits Glacier must be willing to accept a certain degree of risk, but risk that can be calculated.

BERRIES NOW MAKING BEARS TOPICAL

Of course bears have always made news and right now they’re again topical. This is a late season for berries, and right now service berries are drooping from the branches. Bears love them, so if you are on the park’s east side and want to peer through binoculars and see grizzly bears grazing along the hillsides, this would be an excellent time to camp in the Many Glacier Valley.

CLICK FOR MORE INFORMATION AND TO SEE LARGER IMAGE. L to R: Grizzly bear, Many Glacier Valley; grizzly bear munching on service berries, now ripe; branches now heavy with service berries in most of the trails in Many Glacier Valley.

This is one of my favorite campgrounds. However, Many Glacier is the precise area in which one of the park’s ten fatal maulings occurred. In fact the Many Glacier area may be the area in which the most maulings have occurred, and here are a few examples. Knowledge of them should help you evaluate those “calculated risks,” for they reinforce the fact that Glacier is not a zoo and that tragedies can happen.

BEAR MAULINGS

On September 23, 1976, a grizzly bear fatally mauled a female camper in the campground. The attack was unprovoked and began while the young lady was asleep in tent.

On July 26, 1984, a small 150 pound grizzly attacked a hiker on the trail to Ptarmigan tunnel. The hiker’s male companion punched the bear and it left.

On October 24, 1998, at about 2 p.m. a lone grizzly attacked Mrs. Pelland and then her husband, Matt Pelland. According to their report, Matt ran about 20 feet down off the trail, tripped and fell in thick trees, where upon the bear began “eating” his left leg. He sprayed the bear in the face and eyes with an entire can of bear spray, whereupon he then ran for help, heading down Canyon Creek to the bridge and thence by trail to Many Glacier where he reported his missing wife. Mrs. Pelland was later rescued. She reported the bear had knocked her down repeatedly and rolled her over. The bear had also sat on her all in the course of about a minute. Though injuries were extensive, both victims were treated on an outpatient basis.

WORLD’S BEST GB HABITAT?

Why all these maulings in Many Glacier? Probably because when Glacier was but an embryonic park, managers authorized construction of the huge Many Glacier hotel in what may well be the world’s best grizzly bear habitat.

Many Glacier provides some of North America's best bear habitat.

Despite attacks grizzly bear watching is an activity that dominates the very psyche of park visitors, and it is to the park’s credit that fewer mauling now seem to be occurring. Most likely that is because of increased trail closures, usually temporary but necessary when bears move into an area, and because of education. For instance, signs are posted everywhere, and once I made a tally counting something in the neighborhood of a dozen different signs used to inform people about the nature and the presence of bears. As well, hikers who intend to backpack overnight are required to watch an educational video.

BEAR SPRAY WORKS!

There’s also much information on how to camp in the front country, which includes the proper preparation and storage of food. Perhaps another big factor is the use of pepper spray, now carried by most hikers. It seems to work, and work well. In fact, Rick Millsap, a former Glacier Park Ranger and good friend, says he has used it several times, both in Glacier and in Wrangle St Elias, where he now serves as a park ranger. With it Rick says he has turned charging bears. Lesson: carry bear spray, such as Counter Assault.

Bill Hutchison, former seasonal ranger, demonstrating use of Counter Assault

So what will Janie and I be doing? We’re firm believers that we’re safer in the backcountry of Glacier than we are driving roads in the Flathead, and that goes into our equation when calculating our risks.  In fact, statistically, park maulings are way behind such common activities as swimming and hiking, which always seem to count for several of the annual deaths the park invariably experiences.

So maybe we’ll see you in the park. Most likely, you’ll hear us before you see us. We like to sing as we hike, particularly when rounding blind corners, and that helps to keep the bears away. We like Bruce Springsteen’s “Glory Days,” and that seems to work, as we’ve never surprised a bear while crooning such spirited ballads .

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Nova Scotia’s Incredible Cabot Drive

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©Bert Gildart: Yesterday, (Saturday) I rode my bike down our driveway, turned south along our old country road, peddled about 100 yards, and suddenly saw a small fire from an old river landmark leap about 40 feet above the nearby farmlands. About the same time, a neighbor driving his pickup trunk also saw the flames and called the local fire department.

Creston and Bigfork firefighters quickly arrest violent flames that seemed on verge of spreading.

I quickly peddled back home, got Janie, got my camera, hopped into our ancient pickup (not the one we use to pull our Airstream) and drove down a rutted dirt road to the old wooden structure located on the banks of the Flathead River. All that took no longer than ten minutes, but already fire trucks were arriving on the scene. And so, too, were area fire fighters, who arrived over the next 20 minutes in their own private cars. In so doing, they gave up  whatever they might have been doing: playing with children, making home improvements, watching a football game – whatever – they all rushed to the scene.

Janie and I followed them and watched as they moved in with power hoses to knock down the flames. Several trees had caught fire and firefighters removed those with chainsaws. Very quickly, the men (and the woman, too) contained the fire and we thought how lucky we were for their quick response. Winds were gusting at 30 to 40 miles per hour, and less than a hundred yards away was our small community known as Ranchettes. The Forest Service ranked fire danger “High” and was not issuing any burning permits.

FIRE BECOMES SOCIAL EVENT

Janie and I watched the firefighters for about an hour, and I took a number of photographs, using a 400mm lens. Other neighbors showed up and before long the fire had become a social event. Tom Heikens, the man who owned the old structure and the adjacent farmland, said he couldn’t remember exactly, but thought the dilapidated old wooden building might have been 100 years old. He said no one had lived there since 1948. I said it had become one of our river landmarks for times when we were boating on the river. When we saw the tired old home we knew we were near our takeout point. Again, we all wondered how the fire had begun, and one of the firefighters said they’d be conducting an investigation.

Just how the the old structure caught fire remains a mystery. Without the quick response of local firefighters this could have metastisized to a real tragedy.

I then hurried back home and called the Daily Interlake, a newspaper I worked for ages ago. Once the evening news editor said she’d use the photo I then wrote the “cut lines.”  Though loss of the structure will cause no one any financial grief, it is just another of the old things that is now gone, reflecting on the way in which change comes to small rural areas. But more significantly, the quick response demonstrates once again the debt of gratitude we owe our firefighters.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO (Ironically, it was about local firefighters!):

*Firefighters In Creston Montana Recall 9/11

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©Bert Gildart: On August 17, two rangers tracked a female sow and her cubs to the campground at Old Man Lake, which is located in Montana’s Glacier National Park near the Two Medicine area. As directed, they killed the sow using high power rifles. One hour later, they attempted to dart one of the yearling cubs, but inadvertently hit the cub near its carotid, which soon generated trauma and then, death. As well, they darted the second cub with a tranquilizer drug.

The sow was 17 years old, and the directive to kill the bear has generated much controversy – even outrage. The park has received many letters, and so have local news papers. Seasonal employees have opined that there were other options. In fact, so many have expressed strong beliefs that park officials will be holding a meeting September 15 on both the park’s east and west sides to answer questions. Seasonals, of course, are unofficial public relation agents, and when they return home, their voices will be heard.

FRIENDS AND I ENCOUNTER SOW IN QUESTION

Interestingly, the sow in question is one which I encountered along with several friends while hiking three years ago into Glacier’s Cut Bank valley. Nearing a place along the trail known as Atlantic Creek Junction, there, standing about 30 yards away was a large sow grizzly bear with distinguishing marks. Wind had been blowing hard and perhaps the old sow had not heard us, but when she did, she stopped and then stared.

A tranquil Two Medicine Lake and Sinopah Mountain creates a serene setting that tends to obscure the difficult decisions park managers must make to maintain a balance between Glacier's primeval qualities and visitor safety. Over the years, about 200 bear maulings have occurred, 10 of them fatal. Recently, in an effort to protect visitors, park managers deemed it necessary to remove a grizzly bear family from a drainage adjacent to this one. But their plans went awry, generating much controversy, particularly among seasonals, which will soon be more formally addressed.

As a group, we all began backing away. In turn, the sow turned and ambled off into the brush. We waited for awhile, then continued, but we could hear her and occasionally see the brush slowly moving. She was leaving, but, admittedly, in no hurry to do so. That, apparently, is pretty much the way in which she has reacted when encountering hikers in the adjacent Old Man area.  She was never shy around people, but she was never overtly aggressive either, even with cubs. Of course, that is precisely the way in which a number of bears in the Many Glacier respond — and I’ve reported on that in the past, both here and in the Daily InterLake.

DECISION TO DISPOSE OF SOW

As a member of the outdoor media, I receive news releases from Glacier, and in one dated August 18, 2009, Superintendent Chas Cartwright stated the rationale for disposing of the sow – which now had cubs: “Unfortunately,” said Cartwright in the release, “this entire family group of grizzly bears had become overly familiar with humans… Park resource personnel worked to keep this bear and her offspring in the wild for five years, but given her most recent display of over-familiarity in combination with her history of habituation, we determined that the three grizzlies posed an unacceptable threat to human health and safety; and therefore, needed to be removed from the park.”

The park also points out that they had brought in Karelian dogs in an attempt to bring about aversive conditioning, and had closed the remote Old Man Lake Campground, but with no success.

Regarding the decision to remove the cubs, Cartwright continued. “Given the possibility that her offspring had learned this type of overly-familiar behavior and the diminished chance of their survival, we simply could not leave the yearlings in the wild. We deeply regret the loss of the one cub, but are thankful that the other yearling will soon be transported to the Bronx Zoo.”

NIGHT OF THE GRIZZLY

Bears, of course, are one of the animal’s on the Threatened Species list, and most park visitors value their presence, and, so, you can bet your bottom dollar that every bear’s death is reviewed in bars, around supper tables, and sometimes, too, after reading from noted books. From these works, parallels are drawn and that’s when the questioning begins…

One of the similarities that cropped up is from Jack Olsen’s book, Night of the Grizzlies, which as Bill Schneider said in a recent New West column, “may be the best selling outdoor book ever.” In his column he  provides a link to one of my posts, which details the tragic events surrounding Glacier’s first fatal maulings.

The anecdote in question harkens back to a day in 1967 when Cliff Martinka, a park biologist of the time, decided over the objection of George Ostrom, a well know local media gadfly, to dispose of two yearling cubs. “Ranger executives,” as Olsen called them, had decided two yearling cubs had to be disposed of because they had become addicted to garbage in the backcountry, particularly at Granite Park Chalet. Here, chalet mangers were intentionally feeding garbage to grizzly bears so guests could see these most powerful of North American wild mammals, creating a number of “habituated” adult bears and even several yearling cubs. In turn, that contributed directly to one of the park’s two fatal maulings, which occurred one August night in 1967. Garbage was also associated with the other fatal mauling, which occurred at Trout Lake — the same exact night as did the one at Granite Park.

WHY SHOOT THEM?

” [But] why shoot them?” yelled an angry Ostrom, referring to the cubs at Granite Park. Then, growing even more angry: “God damn it! The cubs won’t come back if there isn’t any garbage to come back to!” But the damage had been done, for Martinka had already fired at the bears with his high-powered rifle. His shot, however, was not fatal. Rather it struck the lower jaw of the cub, leaving it hanging. How could the young cub survive?

Fast forward now six months to the following spring of 1968 when rangers sight an emaciated cub emerging from hibernation. Again they see it, and not surprisingly, they see that it is unable to forage effectively, for its jaw has been shattered. This anecdote is found between pages 199 and 206 in one print version of Olsen’s book, and, as the work relates, rangers soon disposed of the poor creature, saving it from a lingering death.

Information from this tragedy is one several seasonals have posed to counter park arguments. “If a cub could survive the winter with a shattered jaw, surely a healthy cub could also survive.”

As well, they wonder about the marksmanship – the training – of the rangers. In fact, Jenny Blake, a seasonal ranger had been ordered to dispose of the sow in the 2009 Old Man bear family with a shotgun, but resigned, saying she didn’t have the proper training. That much seems clear, but according to the rumor mill, Ms. Blake said yet more. She said she favored further aversive conditioning and “could not shoot the mother bear.” She was then told that perhaps she shouldn’t be working here – and that’s when she quit. Certainly, some of the rumors will be cleared up in the upcoming meeting of seasonals with their permanent counterparts.

Regarding the recently killed grizzly sow, seasonals also wonder why officials didn’t simply close the campground rather than shooting the animal. Said one, “If the bear family did return the following year, couldn’t they reopen the case against the sow, who would then have been nearing the end of her life?” Continuing, seasonals say that the cubs would have been two years old, and capable of taking care of themselves.

DELICATE TIGHT ROPE

None of this should be misconstrued in a way that makes today’s park managers come off as being callous, heavy-handed mis-managers of wildlife, for if the bear did maim a visitor, managers would carry a heavy burden. Someone would know that his or her decision produced a visitor’s disfigurement – or perhaps even a visitor’s life. No one wants that!

Certainly that is one of the lessons from Night of the Grizzlies. And so, too, is an old cliché, which recalls that there is nothing predictable about a grizzly other than the fact that the animal is unpredictable. Making decisions about bears is an extraordinarily difficult tight rope to walk, and must sometimes be made quickly and without the benefits of retrospection. Still, the hope is that input from all interested parties will result in the type of wilderness settings most  want to see.

Seasonals will be meeting with their permanent counterparts September 15, 2009. Hopefully, I’ll have feedback, and if constructive will certainly share it.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Mount Katahdin — An Appalachian Trail Terminus

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©Bert Gildart:  Anyone have an idea what Robert Service and Jack London shared in common regarding the Yukon Territory and the gold rush of the late 1800s–other, of course, then a marvelous way with words?

Because I’ve been a fan of both men since my teen age years, that’s one answer I can easily provide, but, first, in a highly abbreviated form, here’s my background.

Cabin was home for Robert Service between 1910 and 1912

In high school we got extra points if we memorized The Shooting of Dan McGrew, a Robert Service epic, and I memorized it, and (subsequently) others. Jack London penned such famous novels as White Fang and Call of the Wild. What’s more, when I taught English, I used my favorite short story of all time: To Build a Fire, to illustrate various aspects of good writing.

That’s my resume on the two bards, so, now, the answer:

Both men resided in tiny area cabins and both drew inspiration from the Dawson area for their various works. However, they were here at different times during the gold rush-and were initially drawn for different reasons.

LONDON HIKED THE FAMOUS CHILKOOT

Jack London came because of desperation and arrived like all the other Stampeders. He climbed the Chilkoot Pass (now a national park), then dropped down onto the Yukon, floating by boat to confluence of the Klondike and Yukon rivers, which happens at Dawson City. Here, he mucked for gold, living in a rundown cabin.

Robert Service, on the other hand, arrived as a bank teller, transferred from Whitehorse to Dawson City. Because of the gold being taken out, his employers wanted a youthful man to serve the banking needs of the miners, and they sent this English-born man. As a banker, Service discharged his duties, but found that he was more interested in the stories that were unfolding around him. In these two Yukon settlements he saw a shooting, he heard about cremation and met a man named Sam McGee. He learned about petulance, hooch, fang and claw. He learned about the bands of the aurora, the bitter cold, and the beauty of the towering peaks.

BOTH LIVED IN SMALL CABINS

Because of the ultimate fame of the two men, in Dawson you can now see the cabins of both authors. London’s cabin was discovered along the Klondike, and, using the old lumber, replicated so that it now forms part of a small interpretive center.

About the way it was when poet Robert Service occupied cabin

The Robert Service cabin stands where it has always stood and that is on the outskirts of Dawson. To reach it Janie and I rode our bicycles from our campground down the dirt-covered streets of the small town, arriving in time for a one o’clock presentation. We toured the small cabin, noting the modest accommodations. Then we joined Fred, an interpreter with Parks Canada, who provided a thoroughly entertaining account of the years of Robert Service in the Yukon.

He said that the then-banker began writing down the visual impression he was beginning to form. Before long his work began to assume the form of long poems. Some called them ballads. While working in Whitehorse, he lived with several other bankers. In the evening he’d retire early, but then rise in wee hours to pen his story-poems until it was time to assume daily obligations at the bank.

SERVICE FINDS PUBLISHER

Within the year, Service had assembled an adequate portfolio and he presented it to a publisher in Toronto. The news was good, and soon the poet was making more from his art than he was as a banker. Resigning, he moved into a small cabin in Dawson that has now been preserved as a historic shrine. Here, he declared he would live modestly and write.

We gleaned all this from Fred’s presentation, and the man knew how to hold an audience-and draw them in. He recited several poems, and then asked if anyone had heard of the Ballad of Blasphemous Bill. Others in the audience had boldly revealed their knowledge, so I raised my hand. Fred smiled and began the poem, and obviously, as you’ll soon see, it is one of my favorites-containing words, phrases and stanzas I’ve memorized.

Fred had memorized the entire ballad, and he began:

I took a contract to bury the body of Body of Blasphemous Bill MacKie…

The poem continues explaining what Bill’s partner must do after he dies, and the problems he ultimately encounters. Without missing a beat, Fred continues with his rhythmical and animated recitation.

THE MISSING WORD

… His arms and legs stuck out like pegs, as if they was made of wood. Till at last I said: he’s froze too hard to thaw; he’s obstinate, and he won’t lie straight, so I guess I’ve got to…

And here Fred paused, looked at me, and with a gesture of his hand asked for the missing word-which I gleefully provided… “SAW…”

Fred continued, bringing the poem to an end with words that always turn pathos into humor, a signature event for Robert Service.

… And as I sit and the parson talks, expounding on the Law, I often think of poor old Bill, and how hard he was…  to SAW.

The crowd clapped, Fred bowed, and then summarized his philosophy of Robert Service. “Isn’t that great,” chuckled Fred. “He could laugh at life. And that is what endeared him to so many.”

YUKON WAS ENDLESS SOURCE OF INSPIRATION

As the years went by, both Robert Service and Jack London garnered much acclaim. Service worked from his cabin for several years, finally departing for good in 1912. Eventually he moved to France, married, worked as a war correspondent, drove an ambulance in WWI-and wrote more poems (and even a couple of novels), all of which ultimately made him a very wealthy man. London on the other hand moved to California, worked hard, and though his life ended in tragedy, enjoyed immense success and the good life–at least for a time.

Parks Canada interpreter could recite endlessly from works of Robert Service

And now, even though both moved far from Dawson there is another aspect of their work that can be framed into a question, and that is: what did the two continue to share in common?

The answer, of course, is that they both continued to draw on the Yukon as a source of inspiration for their respective bodies of work. In this manner both succeeded admirably-and to some extent you can relive their glory years by visiting their cabins, located in Dawson, just off the banks of the Yukon and Klondike rivers. The landscape is one both knew intimately, but more significantly, it was one that inspired what are probably their best descriptive works.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Fort Ticonderoga

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(Note, if you want to learn about Robert Service consider the two books on the left. If you want to learn about the life of a teacher in Chicken, Alaska, you won’t go wrong with Tisha. And of course we use Nikons, usually the D-300):

©Bert Gildart: Several nights ago, Janie and I found what we consider to be the perfect campground. For us, essentially that is one that does not have people stacked one on top of the other; and here in Alaska, traveling the Alcan, if isolation is your desire, you can often find it.

Along the Alcan, you can find camping that is far from the maddening crowd

We found this site in the flood plain of a river not too far south of Delta Junction. Certainly we weren’t the first to use it, as you’ll notice if examine my associated photo. In it, you’ll see several fire rings. More conspicuous, however, are the features that make this little spot so desirable, and that is the Alaska Range which backdrops our Airstream. Not quite as visible are the abundant flowers —  the crimson-colored fireweed, the yellow potentella, and the white crown of the lace-fringed yarrow.

WHAT THE PHOTO DOES NOT SHOW

And, of course, the photo does not convey the sounds, which come from the nearby river, which is generating the clunk of rolling rocks as they pound one against the other. These sounds draw us to the banks of this much braided river, and as we walk we find the tracks of a fox or a coyote, but little else.  Obviously, we are much drawn by history and natural history, and this little site provided its commentaries.

But it was also satisfying for another reason, for we did not have the highly intrusive sounds created by what has become my nemesis, and that is the incessant yipping and yapping of the little dogs – left unattended (sometimes for hours) by their thoughtless owners.

To say that we thoroughly enjoyed the campsite is an understatement.

We’re now in Chicken, Alaska.  We accessed a road just south of Tok, picking up what is called the Taylor Highway. We were here about six weeks ago, but only for a few hours. At the time we dwelled on the more frivolous aspects of the settlement, which is what most people do when they stop but for a few hours, and we were certainly no exception.

But there is a more substantial side to this cluster of cabins, and thoughts gleaned from our stay here are the ones we’ll be sharing in our next few travel blogs.

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TWO YEARS AGO AT THIS TIME

*Mount Rainier

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Moose along Alcan, chowing down

©Bert Gildart: What do moose eat? Well, they eat fire weed, and lots of it.

That’s something we learned today while driving the Alcan Highway, for we have left Fairbanks, and are heading south, but not quite leaving Alaska. In fact, we’re heading back to Chicken, then we’ll be traveling over the Top of the World Highway, where we’ll stop about 100 miles later for a night or two in Dawson City. Dawson recalls the times Robert Service spent having preserved his cabin. Here, he penned such famous poems as the Cremation of Sam McGee. It also preserves the memory of Jack London with a cabin and we hope to see the former homes of both.

After a night or two in Dawson, we’ll be heading back to Whitehorse, but just briefly. About August 8 we should be pulling into Skagway, Alaska, and, there, we’ll make ready to climb the famous Chilkoot Pass. We’ll be joined by Adam and Sue Maffei, another Airstream couple whose company we enjoy immensely.

COURTEOUS OBSERVERS

In the meantime, we have a fairly long way to go, and right now the wildlife along the ALCAN is keeping us mighty occupied. This guy was grazing along the road near Delta Junction, which is about 100 miles south of Fairbanks. He didn’t seem to mind the cars, just so long as no one got out, which no one did. Most people here seem to understand wildlife and what it takes enjoy observing it.

That enabled us to learn a little something about feeding habits here in Alaska, which really isn’t that much different from Alces alces in Montana, i.e., they love fireweed.

Proof that moose love fireweed.

Note: Not sure what our Internet capabilities will be in Chicken or in Dawson City, so there may be a lag or two after this posting before I can blog again.

AS THE EARTH TURNS: Sunrise and sunset in Fairbanks will be 4:40 and 11:16 respectively.

THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Glacier National Park’s Moose Valley

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©Bert Gildart: “Step through the door as quickly as possible,” directed our guide. “Every time we open the door we loose eight degrees of heat.”

We had entered the Aurora Ice Palace located in the Chena Hot Springs Resort, about 55 miles from Fairbanks, Alaska. Temperatures inside the Palace were a cool 20ºF while outside they hovered around 80.

Heroic size ice carvings depicting jousting.

Quickly we donned heavy parkas, then we entered a room full of heroic sized ice carvings. Renowned ice artist Heather Brice was at work adding to her creations, which now include the life-size carving of two gladiators jousting with lances; a polar bear; a series of ice goblets, among others.

NO IMPORTED ELECTRICITY

“These carvings will last for years,” said our guide. “And they’re all preserved by starting with thermal energy.” Continuing he said that Chena doesn’t have access to outside electricity, and that virtually everything in the complex to include the quest rooms, dinning rooms… a green house in which vegetables are raised, are all derived from geothermal power. “That,” he said, “includes the Ice Palace.”

From an earlier tour of the complex that day with Cherie Johnson, we knew a little about what he was referring to, for she had introduced us to the technology that enabled all this to work. In theory, it’s fairly simply, though the elaborate machinery would lead you to believe differently.

CLICK ON ABOVE IMAGES TO SEE ENLARGMENTS. L to R: Hot spring; Exterior of Aurora Ice Palace; Airstream, Ice Palace and artifacts from minning era.

Bernie Karl, owner of the complex, has taken hot water from the earth and used it to generate power in an ingenious manner. Because the water that feeds the hot springs that first began attracting visitors was only 163 ºF, he used it in another way. He found another substance with a lower boiling point, and used heat from the water to create steam from the other substance used to turn the fins of a generator. The process is certainly more involved but because he has taken his process so far and is now generating energy that may soon be completely independent of fossil fuels, he’s getting lots of attention.

NATIVE VILLAGES COULD BENEFIT

Electrical energy in Alaska is expensive, but hundreds of remote Native Villages could benefit from his technology. He offers links that detail his setup, to include the additional technology now used to power all aspects of his entire center, which includes the demanding requirements of the Aurora Ice Palace.
Though the entire complex is impressive, what was most dramatic to me was, in fact, the ice museum.

Interior of Aurora Ice Palace

The carvings are all impressive and to capture images I used a tripod and exposures of five to 10 seconds, depending on the light in that particular area. Our tour lasted about half an hour and, then, because we had walked from such a warm environment to such a cold environment, we followed up our ice tour with a long soak in the hot springs. We sampled them all, to include the outdoor natural springs (see above series of photos) as well as several hot ones located in a protected enclosure.

JAPANESE LOVE CHENA & ITS WINTER  AUROA

Interestingly, the most popular time to visit Chena is winter, something Janie and I have done in years past. The complex is ideally located for viewing northern lights. Because the Japanese believe that children conceived while the Aurora blaze overhead will be particularly healthy, they flock here in the winter… They love Chena.

AS THE EARTH MOVES:

Tonight sunset at Fairbanks will be 11:28, sunrise, 4: 25.

THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Fort Union, An Outpost on the Missouri River

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Elijah Cabinboy attempting to kick tiny ball was one of my favorite photos.

©Bert Gildart: Photographing the World Eskimo Indian Olympics has been a challenging experience. To some extent it was made easier by the willingness of authorities to work with photojournalist-and with the advice I received from several very good photographers who have worked here before.

Though I was familiar with virtually all the techniques required here for these fast-paced events, some I had not used for awhile, and the discussions I had with other photographers expedited my recollections. Clark Mishler, for instance, explained the camera settings he was using and described his use and placement of auxiliary flash units.

Roy Corral assured me that using high ISO camera settings would produce good publishable results. That’s something I should have remembered, as one of my images made this winter in Death Valley was made using an ISO setting of almost 2000-and it was extraordinarily sharp. Apparently, Nikon excels with pixels used in its high-end digital cameras. Here, at WEIO, many of my action images were shot using ISOs ranging from 400 to 800.

The most difficult image was the one of Elijah Cabinboy. This image is not cropped. The challenge was to figure out where his eyes would be when his feet touched the ball, and I did so by watching him and then noticing that his head was about a foot or so behind the ball. That’s where I focused my camera, not on the ball. When using a wide-open aperture and a small telephoto lens, this selection was critical, otherwise his eyes would have been out of focus, and that essentially makes the image unusable.

What I believe is so striking about this image is Cabinboy’s concentration. Look and you’ll see he is focused–and intently so on the tiny ball, which he must touch with his feet. Little wonder he’s such a superb athlete.

BREAKS OLYMPIC RECORDS

Elijah is, in fact, a superb athlete and this year he broke an Olympic record with his One-foot High Kick. Unfortunately, I was shooting another venue when Cabinboy broke the previous record by balancing himself on one arm and then kicking the ball, which was then suspended at an elevation of 96 inches. Later, he said he practiced kicking the ceiling of his apartment, which, is in fact, 96 inches.

RATIONALE FOR FAVORITES

Other photos I like for different reasons. I like the one of Blanche Vest keeping the fire alive during the opening night using a caribou antler to nurse her flame ignited with moss and seal oil. It tells a story.

CLICK TO SEE LARGER IMAGE. L TO R: Delilah DeWilde and Andrew Marks, Lila Moses of Fairbanks, “Keeper of Flame” Blanche Vest, Brandon Johnson

Likewise, I like the image of Delilah DeWilde and Andrew Marks running the torch around the arena. To impart a sense of motion I intentionally shot at slow shutter speeds. There’s a story here, too, one of pathos. This past Christmas Vaughn Kozevnikoff, one of Mark’s best friends, died suddenly. As a result, Marks dedicated his win as a tribute to his friend. Best male and female runner are also provided the honor of lighting the seal oil light, tended by Blanche Vest.

I also like the image of Lila Moses of Fairbanks taken during the Native Baby contest. Janie helped me with this photo by holding a second strobe to improve modeling. It also “flattens” the light, which is more pleasing to young faces.

POWER OF DANCES

I am always awed by the power some of the dances project and in this case, it is performed by Brandon Johnson a Tlingit Indian from Yakutat. He said Native dances tend to convey the constant flow of life, the trees, rivers, clouds… I liked his descriptions.

David Thomas completes his high blanket toss with a somersault

Finally, I could not stop photographing those participating in the Eskimo Blanket Toss, and in this case, David Thomas adds a bit of variety which was certainly pleasing to the judges. At the height of his leap, he did a somersault. Last year his performance won him some top awards, and may have this year. I’m not sure and am still checking records.

We leave the Olympics the best way possible-which means we are yearning for more. Others agreed, and it is little wonder the contest has become one of Alaska’s favorite attractions.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Mackinac National Park

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Cora "Umara Nupowhotuk" creates work of art that reflect her traditional ancestory.

©Bert Gildart: Cora “Umara Nupowhotuk” is originally from St. Lawrence Island and, today, she makes Caribou Masks that tell of the traditional past.

John Koweluk and Molly Hunt from Katlik make exquisitely beaded moccasins while Kenneth Frank of Arctic Village is an artist with the drums.

Because Alaska is such a huge state, many of these native arts and crafts remain unique to the culture and obscured from a more public viewing. But at the World Eskimo Indian Olympics (WEIO) held each year for four days in Fairbanks, Alaska, in July, artists arrive prepared to display and explain production. And, of course, WEIO provides a good setting in which you can make purchases, some that will last a life.

Cora “Umara Nupowhotuk” (see last photo from  July 20 post) is one of the more distant representatives of Native  art, having been reared on St. Lawrence Island, located some 40 miles off the Siberian coast. She says her mother and grandmother instructed her in the art of skin sewing. She says her work has been worn on the summit of Denali, the Antarctic and has been displayed in the Smithsonian.

Umara’s work represents the faces of traditional Siberian Yupik people. Her son harvests the caribou, she then molds the faces over one of the cedar faces she has carved. Later, she adds tattoos, representing an adornment that was once a custom among woman of her culture. She says that there are several elderly women from her village and that they have facial tattoos “similar, she says, “to those shown on my masks.

TRADITIONALLY, WOMEN ALL WORE FACIAL TATTOOS

Umara’s masks depict both men and women, though the ones of woman seemed more appealing to Janie and me. All were adorned with customary tattoos and beads, and some of the patterns she’s created represent waves, life lines, northern lights, fern leaves among others.

Men wore no facial tattoos, but they did have marks above their eye brows. “If a woman was barren her husband was allowed to take a second wife,” said Umara. “If he did, the eye brow marks tell that story.”

CLICK ON IMAGE TO SEE ENLARGED PHOTO. L TO R: MOCCASINS, DRUM GROUP, SUSAN HOPE, KUUGMIUT DRUM AND DANCE GROUP

Mary and Francis Kakoona of Shishmaref live equally as far away. Their village is about 80 miles north of Nome, which is in the Berring Sea, and has the tragic distinction of being located on a small island that is rapidly diminishing because of global warming. “We’ll have to relocate,” says Francis, “and we’re very sad because of our history there.”

LIFE-LIKE CREATIONS

Francis hunts for seals and walruses just off the island and it is from these animals that he extracts materials for his work. “I shape the ivory,” he says, “so that it takes on a life.”

All in all about 30 artists displayed their work at WEIO, and all was of excellent quality. We would have photographed more but we had to coordinate the times we asked questions and made photographs between lulls in the Olympic competitions and, of course, during times when artists were free from sales.

Kimberly Dullen (Miss WEIO 2008) crowns Alanna Gibson, the new Miss WEIO

Sometimes, of course, I simply photographed individuals engaged in activities that I thought projected talent. These include Susan Hope with her father’s ship made of baleen, Kenneth Frank joining a group that simply wish to be known as Soaring Eagle, drummers from Anaktuvuk Pass, and, finally, and certainly not to be excluded, the lovely Kimberly Dullen crowning the equally as lovely Alanna Gibson of Minto, the new Miss WEIO.

These young ladies are artists themselves, and do more than stand and project beauty. As well, several are talented craftpersons themselves, one of the abilities on which judges decide just who will be a Miss WEIO.

Though the contest ended this past Saturday night, I may post a few other photographs.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Theodore Roosevelt National Park

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