Pacing off size

©Bert Gildart: Five-hundred years from now – after man has rebounded from a devastating decline in population associated with much tragic and social unrest — archaeologists will reemerge to wonder about those who lived in the distant past. (Come on, play along for a minute.)

They begin by excavating, and because deserts are always so productive, lo and behold, they begin in Anza Borrego. Here, they find a rock or two whose juxtaposition appears to have been created intentionally.

“Eureka!” someone exclaims! And then they begin the tedious process of uncovering the entire structure.

Months later, a form will appear, and scientists will conclude that it was the recreation of a huge snake.

In fact, with its triangular shaped head and segmented tail (all created with the artistic arrangement of rocks) it appears to be a rattlesnake.

120 Foot-Long Serpent

Measurements will determine the sinuous form of the snake stretches about 40 feet but that if uncoiled, it would measure 120-feet long.

Much time must have to have been devoted to the project, perhaps, scholars will conclude, four or five hours.  But, then, to perfect the structure, these people had to return over a period of several days, perhaps even weeks. And because so much time was involved our future scientist will have to wonder if Homo sapiens of the period deified the snake?

Searching for answers scholars will dig into books created by the ancients of the year 2012, and they will learn  that Native Americans of the mid-18^th Century (as an example)  created images of the creatures that were important to them at the time.  In this place still called Anza Borrego they created symbols of the sun and of the anthropomorphs.

They created graphic images of the genitalia of men and woman perhaps as a means of increasing fertility.  And in other areas still preserved in lands yet known (we can hope) as National Parks, they learned Native ancients created images of sheep, possibly because sheep (Zion NP)had died out. They hoped that through the creation of their images that they would generate the magic needed to bring sheep back, and so push back hunger. (Other petroglyph sites I’ve visited: Earth Mother, V-Bar-V)

In other words, they carved out pictographs and petroglyphs for all sorts of reasons, generally for reasons that seemed important at the time.

Which brings us to our snake.

Worship of Snakes

Serpents have long been worshiped, because they shed their skins and are symbolically “reborn.” In fact, classes of the Hindu and Buddhist have worshipped (and still worship) snakes – and very large ones at that.  And, so, it is probably safe to extend the feeling of awe for snakes to Homo sapiens at large. And because of recent events, so it is here at Pegleg. Just the other day someone saw a large rattler in the hills just behind us.

Through the eons, many have worshipped snakes

I honestly have no idea who created the huge serpent, but the reasons could be associated with some of the above. Perhaps it was an infertile couple desirous of procreation; a group hoping for immunity from a bite.  Or perhaps as scientist say, no one really knows why the ancients created the thousands of pictographs and petroglyphs that cover the American Southwest. “Maybe,” our scholars say, “they were simply doodling, trying to pass the time on a warm winter day.

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AIRSTREAM TRAVELS THREE YEARS AGO:

*Airstreaming Along the Blue Ridge Parkway

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©Bert Gildart: Snow covered the Vallecito Mountains as we made our drive to Agua Calienta to see our friends Bill and Larry.

Vallecito Mountains, December 14th. That's snow up there folks!

Janie and I meet the two men about four years ago and discovered that we shared similar interests and an interest in acquiring skills we all admired.  Larry is a gourmet cook, Bill a photographer and an interpreter of history at a park center in San Diego.  Perhaps not too coincidentally, we all share a love of Airstream travel. What’s more Bill and I share a fascination with one of Anza Borrego’s most historic of all characters,  Marshall South.

KINDEST OF PEOPLE

I also want to say that Bill and Larry are two of the kindest men we’ve ever met. When we arrived, we saw that Larry had laid out a Christmas table onto which he later served a gourmet pork stew. Larry had also made several Christmas decorations that he wanted Janie to have.

Christmas at Bill and Larry's

Once, both men were professional care givers, but are now retired.  Larry was an occupational therapist while Bill was master-level nurse.  The two have been together now for 40 years and certainly that was one of the many things we discussed.

COMMON INTERESTS

But most of our time was spent talking about the area’s natural history.  Agua Calienta was one of the places Marshall South described, and over the years, Bill and I have made many hikes to learn more about this fascinating man who is often described as the forerunner of the hippies.

We talked about Moonlight Canyon and the hike Janie, Bill and I had just completed and all the sheep we saw, something I will describe in my next posting.  We talked about the quail we’d all seen during our desert hike.

Later the park ranger dropped by and Larry showed him a book I had written several years ago on big horn sheep.  That set the stage for an hour long discussion about the Peninsular Bighorn and it’s struggle to survive. Mark, the ranger said he would try and help us find the “really big guy,” if we came back.

Certainly we will come back.  In fact sometime next month most likely you’ll be reading a post specifically about Aqua Calienta.  In the meantime Janie and I want to take a moment to thank both Bill and Larry for the excellent food, good company, gifts, and for introducing us to this part of Anza Borrego.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Pure Photography In Many Glacier Valley

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©Bert Gildart: Exactly 70 years ago  I was at Pearl Harbor and though I was only a year old and obviously have but little 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…

To read the rest of this account, click the following highlight, which will take you to a blog which I posted two years ago. (Remembering Pearl Harbor) Part of my account also includes the writings of one of my parent’s good friends (Rosalie Folda), who has written extensively about December 7th, 1941.

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©Bert Gildart: Traveling “THE 5,”  ” THE 10″ and  “THE 210″  in northwest California this past week has driven home the meaning of overpopulation in a way no place else in America has ever done.  From the moment we entered the northern part of this the nation’s second largest state this old country boy from Montana (4^th largest state but with a population less than 1M) encountered driving conditions that exceeded those manifesting themselves from our mistake of several years ago.  At the time, we took a wrong turn and then found ourselves pulling our Airstream around Westmorland Circle in Washington D.C. That was bad (also see Vehicular Madness), but here in Northern California it was bumper to bumper not just for an hour or two but for several days.

Centers of Insanity

For two entire days we’ve encountered towns such as Modesto, population 202,747; Fresno, population 494,665; (fifth-largest in California); Delano, 38,824 (just a dot on map); Bakersfield, 347,483 (“room for expansion”); and Adelanto, 31,765 (“up from 18,1380 in the year 2,000”).

Eighty miles an hour on THE 10

But the worst of all these charming towns was San Bernardino, 2,015,355. This city should castrate its road engineers.  Roads were constructed of concrete blocks and all buckled like tectonic plates actively creating mountains. Miles of New Jersey barricades extended to the edge of most areas under construction and traffic did not slow.  One huge trucker roared past us, squeezing us between him and those damn concrete barricades.  Yet another trucker blasted by then applied his Jake breaks, presumably because a small VW was blocking his path – and he wanted to terrify anyone in his way.

Digitus Impudicus

Despite it all, most folks who passed us — as we crept along pulling our Airstream — waved, though it was a strange wave lacking most all fingers — save one.  We waved back, often with great gusto.

The Vernacular

When we finally arrived in Indio, our destination for the night, the lady at the RV park said she understood the frustration. “The Five and those other highways,” she said, may be the nation’s most dangerous road section.”  (In California, all highways rise to such importance that they require the article “The.” The Five; The 210; The Ten — and so on.  In usage a native Californian might say: “Take The 210 to The Five, then stay dedicated… Such is the vernacular.)

Gated RV Park

The RV park where we’re now parked goes by the name of Shadow Hills and seemed to be ideally located to park our Airstream for a Thanksgiving visit to L.A. (population 9,862,049 in July 2008) where Janie’s brother and family live.  The park provides gated security and was a good safe place  to leave our Airstream while we enjoyed a three-day family get together.

Sad to say, but L.A.'s Jet Propulsion Lab is now reducing staff and may have been the one hope for an overpopulated planet, through space exploration -- and ultimate habitation..

Janie’s brother is a professor at USC and despite his usage of the vernacular, I’ve always been impressed. He’s also chairman of the Classics department and just returned from a fellowship at Princeton, but even more impressive to this ‘Ole Montana country boy: he likes to hike and he generally agrees with my politics.)

World’s Most Popular Pastime

Tomorrow Janie and I will return to Shadow Hills, hook up our trailer, and complete the drive to Anza Borrego, which means we have about four hours of driving left.  Once we’re south of Indio these massive populations centers will drop dramatically, but these insane centers of mankind will remain despite my prayers, and anyone who wants proof that 7 billion (official tally about 30 days ago) earthlings may be too much for planet earth to sustain need only drive through Bakersfield, Delano…  San Bernardino.  They’re really not isolated enclaves, but ones that virtually sprawl, one spilling over and onto the other.

Many agree that the world’s biggest problem is overpopulation, but just try and find a politician who will listen.  After all, who would try and curtail the world’s most popular pastime.

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THIS TIME FOUR YEARS AGO:

*Global Warming

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Hooking up to our diseased Airstream, which has always been protected in barn.

©Bert Gildart: After almost three full months of negotiating with our insurance company we have finally reached a settlement regarding damage to our Airstream Travel Trailer.

To make an extremely long story short, our trailer was blasted by a direct hit of magnesium chloride this winter resulting in what the industry calls “filiform corrosion.”

Damage was extensive and because repairs would have been very costly, our insurance company decided to total our trailer.

BUFFING COULD BE AN OPTION

Our insurance company, however, is a good one and they provided a substantial buyout, enough so that we could replace the old trailer with a new one.  Because this most likely will be the last major investment we will ever make, we added a little more so that we could upgrade to a Classic.  Those were some of the facts that placated us last week as we watched a driver prepare to tow our trailer off to Missoula, Montana, where it will soon be auctioned off. Someone could get a very serviceable trailer — and if that someone then tows it to P&S Trailer Service in Helena, Ohio, and has Steve or Kevin buff it out —  that person will have a trailer that looks like new.

We could have gone that route, but the draw back is that the trailer must then be registered as a “salvage trailer.” As a “salvage” trailer, should insurance issues crop up again, a salvaged vehicle does not command the payout that normal registration provides. Yet another option would have been to replace all affected panels. In my case, 10 panels would have had to been replaced but that would have been costly and could have weakened the strength of our Airstream, the reason our insurance company concluded our Safari  should be totaled.

WORST CASE OF FILIFORM EVER

Some may now ask: “Well how will you prevent corrosion from occurring again?”

First, this was a freak accident, and it happened because a careless state driver dropped his load just as he was passing us.  His actions produced what several Airstream dealers described as being “the worse case of filiform corrosion we have ever seen.”

Filiform corrosion, closeup

Those were their exact words, and the corrosive action began almost immediately after the truck dropped its load. Corrosion began because the magnesium blasted our trailer so pitting the clear coating of our trailer, allowing the magnesium to contact with the aluminum where the “disease” established itself, and then began to metastasize.  In appearance — and from a distance — it reminded me of a wild billy goat in spring shedding its winter fur; up close it looked like frost on a window. But this stuff is not pretty, it is butt ugly!

Here I want to emphasize that there was no negligence on our part, meaning the trailer has been waxed religiously (”Walbernized” to all you Airstreamers) and even stored when not in use in a shed we built to protect it.

To actually prove care I provided images from all over the country (see “This time last year,” below)l,  showing that our trailer had been used to produce professional Airstream images, and that it was in absolutely perfect condition prior to the events of several months ago.

INDUSTRY SECRET

Obviously the best solution is to stay off roads when magnesium chloride is being applied, but we knew nothing of filiform at the time,  and up until now it seems to be an industry secret.  No one, not even Airstream, really talks about the issue.

Another solution could be to form a group and march on the state capitol, as many have suggested. I’m not a new-comer to the state, having graduated from MSU, so believe I can make such a suggestion without fear of being called a Carpetbagger. In the past, use of magnesium in Montana has been a political issue.

Diseased Airstream being towed away -- forever!!

Baring a march, residents should group together and petition the state to post signs about the problems magnesium chloride can produce.  Magnesium is a salt and is much worse on vehicles than even sodium chloride.

Magnesium chloride does melt snow but it remains unpopular among most who live in the few states that use it. Montana is one and so I believe are Idaho and Utah.

REMEDY FOR FILIFORM

We are buying our new Airstream trailer from George Sutton in Oregon and will be picking it up this Tuesday. This is our second trailer purchase from this Airstream dealer and the company is  very sympathetic to our plight.

In the future we will refrain from driving winter roads in Montana with our new Airstream and wish the state of Montana had provided a head’s up prior to this sad situation.  Our insurance company attempted to obtain financial help from Airstream but I will probably never know the results of that discussion. Through time and sometimes neglect some Airstreams do develop filiform, but  in my case this was not an Airstream problem.  Our trailer got blasted and only then did corrosion set in. Corrosion would not have been as deep or as complete had not something extreme occurred.

STILL DEVOTED

We remain devoted to the product and expect that we will derive immense enjoyment for the next decade (at least) as we travel the nation looking for more stories and generally enjoying the gypsy life style Janie and I been describing in blogs, magazine stories and books.  What’s more, Silver IS Green, and we enjoy the ease of towing, which facilitates adventure.

L to R  showing   happier times: Airstream (all published images) used for family camping (image appeared this past month in Montana Outdoors);  used as base while kayaking Apostle Islands; used for camping in Jasper, Alberta — all showing happier times, but one that we will soon enjoy again!

We also enjoy meeting all RVers and hope this heads up helps prevent others with aluminum trailers (or other aluminum road products) from experiencing what has truly been a heartbreaking situation for us.

And so endeth this sermon.

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THIS TIME SEVERAL  YEARS AGO:

Actually an Airstream Post,  Showing Very Happy Times

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Prison conditions were harsh, though "Turkey Pete," (shown here as both a young and old man) may not have cared. Sentenced to life for two murders in 1918, he was assigned to tend prison turkeys. He eventually lost touch with reality and began selling prison turkeys for 25 cents apiece. He was assigned to other duties and lived in tiny cells such as this one to the ripe old age of 89.

©Bert Gildart: Is life little more than a crap shoot?  That’s the question you may well be asking yourself if you tour the old prison in Deer Lodge, Montana. That facility — now replaced by a nearby more modern facility — once handled some of the nation’s most incorrigible criminals.

Jerry Myles was one such man, and his resume at the time of incarceration in the Deer Lodge Prison included stints in prisons to include ones in Georgia, Illinois, and Alcatraz.

He committed at least fifteen crimes in eight states to include burglary, grand larceny, conspiracy to commit robbery, mutiny with weapons, and finally threats to burn alive guards whom he had captured. Jerry Myles absolutely despised authority.

Born in 1915 to a mother who rejected him shortly after birth, he was passed from one family to another – often with brutal consequences — until he finally wound up in reform school, serving in his case as a training ground for crimes to follow, which eventually included the association with murder.

Not surprisingly, Jerry spent virtually his entire adult life in prison. During the few times he was free, he searched for his biological mother. But she didn’t want to see him, and the search ended in failure.

Prison psychologists later said his evolving hatred of women lead to a predatory life of homosexuality, during which time he preyed on young and, sometimes, reluctant young men.  Myles always wanted to be the “Lion.” Today, he might be called a “control freak.”

JERRY’S RIOT

Jerry is best known for the lead role he and Lee Smart, his young male “wife,” played in the infamous prison riot they started in 1959.  Because prison conditions at the Montana jail at the time were so horrendous, they found a willing following among other inmates.

The riot lasted several days and was highlighted when convicts captured a number of prison guards and then threatened them throughout the long days and nights of captivity with guns and knifes.  “I’m going to kill you,” Jerry Myles kept saying to several of the guards they’d forced into a cell. “Think about it, ‘cuz I’ll be back.”

Security was tight in 1959, but Jerry Myles and Lee Smart still managed to stage riot.

Eventually the riot ended with the death of a deputy warden and the suicides of both Jerry Myles and Lee Smart. Men from the Montana National Guard stormed the old prison, first firing a bazooka into Cell Tower One, where Myles and Smart were controlling rioting prisoners. That hole still exists, and is one of the features that serves to remind of the days when things went so array.

ART IS CAN BE BALM FOR THE SPIRIT

In part because of the riot, Montana built a new prison with modern facilities – and one night I rode my bike along a small  country road to the new facility.  From my vantage the huge complex appeared neat and clean and well kept.  But it is also surrounded by some of the state’s most beautiful mountains, and paradoxically, that could be the most frustrating aspect of serving time in Deer Lodge.  So much nearby beauty, but for those inside the walls, that beauty  is very – very — far away.

Today’s convicts are encouraged to create works of art, and many do, and they do so at a high level of creativity.  It is for sale in store near the old prison.

Prison art work, showing immense skill, for sale at store near Old Prison.

The art may enable some to work out the frustrations of lonely childhoods, fraught in some cases with much pain and abuse.  It provides opportunities for introspection and perhaps a way to deal with circumstances imposed by horrendous environmental circumstances into which chance birth once placed them.

For the rest of us it might also provide an introspective moment or two – and perhaps a way to reflect on our own luck of the draw. Prison physiologists say Jerry had an IQ of 125, suggesting that environmental circumstances were just too much for Jerry Myles to overcome, bright though he may have been.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR

*Fort Peck

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Star trails intended to create feeling of eternal life at Chief Joseph Battlefield.

©Bert Gildart: Several nights ago I sat outside the framework of a tipi located at Montana’s Big Hole Battlefield. The tipi is thought to be located at the exact site where Chief Joseph slept one night while attempting to elude an army initially lead by General Howard.

Howard was attempting to force this band of Nez Perce onto a reservation site that was not to the tribe’s liking. Now, 150 years later I was attempting to create an image that might symbolize the pathos of a band of men and women doing nothing more than attempting to maintain their freedom.

NO CRIME

I sat there for four hours with my tripod mounted camera pointed at the North Star, and as I lounged in the darkness I could hear all sorts of night sounds that suggested peace and a certain degree of security.  How that contrasted with the horror that followed in the predawn light as Howard’s soldiers fired on the sleeping camp, directing their bullets low so as to intentionally kill women and children as well as the men.

They were guilty of absolutely no crime at all, other then that they wanted freedom.

The government’s cause was Manifest Destiny and the maintenance of the comfort of settlers who had bullied their way into the traditional country of the Nez Perce. These settlers had discovered gold and wanted no conflict from the Indians herding their horses or tending their crops, and though the Nez Perce regrouped that horrible morning and sent Howard and his soldiers retreating, the ultimate story for the Nez Perce, which ended some 2,000 miles later, was a tragic one.

Because Joseph was a good man (probably a brilliant man), respected by all, I had to question the power of a Divine Being looking after all of his children.  Is the ultimate test of right determined by the might of a people and the power of their leaders at a given moment in time?

ARE THERE LESSONS?

What lessons do we take with us from this chapter in American history, and how do we apply them to contemporary times?

In Chief Joseph’s Own Story, he asks in his narration about the conditions that prompted his tribe to rebel.

Who was first to blame? They (referring to individuals in his tribe) had been insulted a thousand times; their fathers and brothers had been killed; their mothers and wives had been disgraced; they had been driven to madness by the whiskey sold to them by the white men… they were homeless and desperate.

Does Joseph and his band wander in new more peaceful land? We will never know.

Ultimately Joseph capitulated to General Miles in Montana’s Bear Paw Mountains. Miles. Miles was sympathetic to the Nez Perce and assured Joseph that he would send his tribe back to the land where his father’s bones rested. However, the U.S. government did not honor the Miles’s promise of 1877.

In his narration Joseph said he would never have surrendered if “I had not believed Miles.” Instead, Joseph and his band were shipped to Fort Keogh and then to a swampland located about four miles from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.  None of these new areas resembled their homeland in the Lapwai Country or present day Idaho and 21 died from various diseases.

Joseph died September 24, 1904 and physicians of the time said the most probable cause was “a broken heart”; and as I sat beneath the various constellations of the night and the millions of stars creating the mystery of the Milky Way, my hopes went out to this good man.

Though I’m inclined to believe that compassion is a product of the here and now, I nevertheless hoped that Joseph and his band ultimately found the freedom they so sought somewhere in the cosmos that appeared so dramatic from the skeletal lodges located now at the Big Hole Battlefield.

I am not sure what lessons we take from the Big Hole, and suspect I never will.

NOTE: Venturing onto the Battlefield at night is illegal unless one has a special permit.  The area is also a burial ground and sensitivity and respect for various local restrictions is paramount.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Lilies In Glacier National Park

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©Bert Gildart: In a flowering field of camas, prairie smoke and bistort, tipi poles stand today like skeletons all reminiscent now of a great tragedy – of a particularly ugly time in America’s history.

Camas now grows in a meadow where Nez Perce Indians once camped, attempting to maintain their freedom; symbolized by tipi poles.

The skeletons remind the sympathetic that on an August morning in 1887, before the sun had even risen, approximately 170 soldiers, led by Colonel John Gibbon, fired into a sleeping camp of approximately 800 Nez Perce Indians. About two thirds of the group were women and children and the only crime they had committed was that they did not want to be forced onto a reservation in Idaho.

BROKEN TREATY

They believed that the treaty of 1863 with the American government, guaranteeing the tribe that the land known as the Wallowa would forever be theirs. Settlers, however, discovered gold in the Walla Walla Valley and the Nez Perce were ordered onto the Lapwai Reservation.

Camas closeup, tipi poles, prairie smoke — all stand in a field where a band of Nez Perce Indians fled from soliders. The Nez Perce hoped to retain freedom and not be forced onto a reservation.  They had been guaranteed the right to remain in their homeland by a treaty of 1863 — but settlers discovered gold.

Many went, but five bands of Non-Treaty Nez Perce refused, and when hostilities broke out in Idaho near the reservation, the five bands were forced to flee.  Leaders such as Chief Joseph and Chief Looking Glass hoped that once they reached Montana they would be safe. They thought they might find a home with the Crow People and so they embarked on a great journey.  And now they were in western Montana, believing themselves to be relatively safe.  Here, along the meandering North Fork of the Big Hole River, all sandwiched between the Beaverhead, Pintlar and Pioneer mountains, they cut lodge poles and erected their tipis (also correct tepee). They hunted and dug the bulbs of camas and bistort, favorite foods they knew from previous hunting excursions to be abundant along the North Fork. Though they posted sentries, the Nez Perce believed the pursuing Army troops were far behind.

MISDIRECTED FORCE

Today, as we walk along the peacefully meandering river, the site of misdirected forces, we read the words of Yellow Wolf from a Park Service brochure.  Yellow Wolf said he returned after the onslaught and began his search for survivors, looking in a maternity lodge that had been occupied by a pregnant woman.  The tipi was silent and inside Yellow Wolf found the woman lying dead in her blankets. In her arms she held her newborn baby, its head smashed by a gun breech or by the heel of a boot.

Immediately after the initial attack the Nez Perce desperately sought cover, running into willow thickets, even submerging themselves in the river, but Chief White Bird’s voice carried over the screams of horror, rifle fire and even canon fire. “Why are we retreating,” he shouted.

Cannon pointed at village which at the time of attack was a peaceful sleeping village

And so began an incredible turn about.  Before long, soldiers fell and soon the tide began to turn on what was to have been a slaughter; and as we walked the fields, our hopes and cheers went out for the Nez Perce. Brave warriors had turned the tide, but unfortunately the tribe had to flee once again, for they knew reinforcements might soon join Colonel Gibbon.

The plight of the Nez Perce is one of the greatest stories of the human spirit for freedom, and later this summer, Janie and I will again meet the tribe. In fact, we plan to meet them twice as our travels will take us through the state, for we are fortunate to have yet another book to work on. As we gather material for our Montana book, we’ll also be covering many other aspects of this state which I began calling home back in the ‘60s.  But the plight of the Nez Perce has always been a subject of great interest, and as we walked the fields of camas, bistort, prairie smoke and all the other features of enduring beauty, its story of pathos continues to stand in stark contrast with the grandeur of this great state.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Airstream Helps Many Age Gracefully

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©Bert Gildart: Officially, the Civil War began 150 years ago on April 12, 1861, but anyone somewhat  knowledgeable about American history knows that several earlier dates might be ascribed to its beginning.

Canon at Gettysburg

There was the infamous John Brown Rebellion, which Robert E. Lee squelched as a Union officer in 1859.  But even before that, history has taught us that our Constitution of 1776 set us up for the war, asserting as it did that “all men are created equal.” However, it welcomed into the Union states that were avowed slaves states. In fact, the Constitution of the Confederacy was based on the foundation that the Negro is not equal to the white man, “that slavery… is his natural and normal condition.”

MORAL IMPERATIVE?

Victors, of course, always consider themselves morally superior, nevertheless, the question that continues to assert itself in the mind of many is: what would have happened had the war not been fought, a war that resulted in the death of 620,000? Horrible (See  previous posts from Andersonville and Antietam) as it was –  was the abolition of slavery worth all those lives? Was it worth the absolute destruction of Atlanta, the devastating siege of Vicksburg,  the complete looting  of homes in Fredericksburg…

CLICK TO SEE LARGER IMAGES: (L to R): Statue at Gettysburg; Robert E. Lee put down John Brown rebellion at Harper’s Ferry; 20,000 killed at Antietam in the course of a single day.

Many believe slavery would have died of its own accord, and some very prominent southerners had abandoned the practice, believing it morally wrong.  Among them was Robert E. Lee, who once wrote his wife saying: … “In this enlightened age, there are few I believe, but what will acknowledge, that slavery as an institution, is a moral & political evil in any Country.”

HEROES OF THE TIME

But men of the time were impatient, and so a war was waged. Paradoxically perhaps, but in my mind’s eye Robert E. Lee and Abraham Lincoln both emerged as heroes, but I sympathized  with Lee, believing as he did that it would have been impossible to fight and kill members of my own family.  Some historians also believe that Lee hoped his resolve might end the war and that the two sides would reunite as one; and in the beginning, it appeared as though he might succeed, for Lee and Stonewall Jackson outgeneraled their  foes at every turn, yielding only toward the end when northern masses and vast technology finally prevailed four long years later.

Lincoln on the other hand had a vision, one that might have been difficult for a young man engulfed by the vitriol of contemporaries to share. Lincoln realized that to survive as a country, we must have unity. And unity back then could not have included slavery.

CLICK TO SEE LARGER IMAGES (L to R): Statue intended to depict horrors of the Andersonville Civil War Prison Camp; Lincoln pennies atop Gettysburg Address; Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. Had Lincoln not been assassinated post war difficulties would have been more readily resolved:  “With malice toward none, with charity for all,” were words from another famous Lincoln speech.

And so the North and South engaged in a horrible war. But the war provided a legacy, and it lives on as a series of lessons found today in a number of National Park Service managed areas.  Visiting those battlefields is what Janie and I have been doing every chance we get. We hope these images serve to remind readers of the horror that can occur when men can not agree, but then, too, of the capacity to forgive though never to forget.

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Note: We’ll be visiting family on the East Coast for the next two weeks, but will be returning on our round trip flight May 2.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*Natchez Trace Lures Model-T  Owner Every Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Missions of San Antonio

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

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Our camp near Caribou Pass, which is not a wasteland as some would have you believe.

©Bert Gildart: Fifty years ago this past December President Eisenhower created the Arctic National Wildlife Range “for the purpose of preserving unique wildlife, wilderness and recreational values.” It was the first time in American history that an entire ecosystem was granted federal protection.

Nineteen million acres were set aside ranging from Kaktovik in the Beaufort Sea and then south, crossing over the Brooks Range then dropping down onto Arctic Village, Alaska.

But although the land is de facto wilderness, ever since Eisenhower’s designation oil companies have eyed the area as a potential for exploitation. I am proud to say that Janie and I have fought along with the Gwich’in Indians, hoping that we – along with the millions of others who love the refuge – might succeed in protecting this sacred land. To insure the integrity of these lands is maintained,  President Obama should elevate the refuge to a National Monument.

We continue to work toward greater protection and our  weapons have been photographs and stories, and they have appeared in dozens of different publications. Our intention has been to chronicle misconception – and sometimes to point out downright lies.

At times, we’ve been funded by major organizations and several years ago The Wilderness Society flew us over the refuge. Later, some members of Congress used my images to illustrate the beauties of the refuge. Some of my other work on the refuge has appeared in Time Life, National Wildlife, Defenders of Wildlife, Highlights for Children, the New York Times, and many, many others.

NOT A WASTELAND!

Unfortunately, some Senators and Congressmen never get off their fat duffs but feel, nevertheless, that they can make sweeping statements. “It’s a wasteland,” said Trent Lott several years ago, a man who has never stepped foot there.

Unlike Mr. Lott, Janie and I have intimate acquaintance with the refuge. We’ve hiked the entire length of the refuge, traveled the major rivers in our johnboat, and we’ve served as summer school teachers in five different Gwich’in Indian villages. We know the refuge for what it is; and that is one of the world’s last self-regulating ecosystems. As well, we know it as a place whose beauty can not be matched, something I hope images posted here will dramatize.

MISREPRESENTATION?

One of the major misconceptions concerns caribou, and people such as Sarah Palin have a way of distorting the facts. Palin and Lott and others of their persuasion say the Central Caribou herd has not been affected, implying that oil development will be good for the Porcupine Caribou herd, the herd dependent on the Arctic Refuge. But there are immense differences as Gwich’in spokeswoman Sarah James of Arctic Village has been pointing out for years.

CLICK FOR LARGER IMAGE: Our camp, deep in Arctic Refuge; fox returning with ground squirrel to feed young; caribou migrate by our camp near Caribou Pass, not far from Beaufort Sea; camped on Porcupine River, a tributary of Yukon and reached only following week of boat travel.

James says the Porcupine Caribou herd needs the Arctic Refuge for calving, a life cycle forged more than 100,000 years ago. According to the Gwich’in, the coastal plains of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge is the core and sacred birthplace of the herd, the vadzaih googii vi dehk’it gwanlii – or “sacred place where life begins” – and this wild nursery must remain intact. To deflect attention from the true biological purpose of this place oil companies have designated the nursery as “The 1002 Area.” What bull crap!

TELL THE WHOLE STORY

As well, oil companies say the Central Caribou herd, which calves near Prudhoe Bay, has expanded its numbers despite drilling. That, James admits, is true. But she insists such expansion is “only part of the story.”

Gwich’in communities and effects of refuge spill over into McKenzie River Delta; Rock John with huge pike caught near Arctic Village on Chandalar River; roasting caribou heads over fire.

James says the untold story concerns geography. In the area where the Porcupine herd calves, the Brooks Range is separated from the Arctic Ocean by about 15 miles. Not so just to the west, where the Central Caribou herd calves. There, as you proceed from east to west, the Brooks Range sweeps to the south, so much so that the mountains are separated from the Arctic Ocean by almost 100 miles. Caribou in the Central herd have room to roam, but not those in the Porcupine herd.

REFUGE SHOULD BE NATIONAL MONUMENT

Because the refuge is a land of such beauty one might think this would be a year to celebrate, and thankfully, there have been accomplishments. But oil companies and Alaska developers such as Sarah Palin are “reloading,” and I hope that Ms. Palin finds that her language – and her inflammatory graphics – do nothing more than ricochet back.

Like a spider web, the threads of Prudhoe spread over the coastal plains and most certainly effect caribou and a beauty that is unique in the world.

Encourage President Obama to safeguard the Arctic Refuge by making its coastal plain a national monument.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Gator Drama In Shark Valley

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James Nampushi, hoping to help his village in Suswa, Kenya acquire water that could be life saving.

©Bert Gildart: About a week ago I related a story about James Nampushi, a Maasai Warrior from Suswa, a small village in Kenya, Africa.

My posted story retold one that James had related to the Clemson University media department, explaining how he had killed a lion so that he might be eligible for Maasai warrior status.

At the time of my posting, I didn’t have the information necessary to detail James’ real passion, and that is to help his village obtain monies necessary to sink a well.

Right now, villagers must travel for miles each day to bucket up water that is dirty and possibly contaminated with disease.

They deserve better.

WATER FOR A VILLAGE

When completed, the well will provide clean water for over 1,000 Maasai people of Suswa, Kenya, and for thousands of cattle, sheep, goats and area wildlife. James sent me a link to a video in which he more thoroughly explains the situation, and it is excellent. This man is a warrior, a highly intelligent one at that; a man who is also seeking advanced degrees at Clemson University in South Carolina.  James knows that in this day and age if he is really going to help his village advance itself, he needs the best eduction he can get.

Watch the video and you’ll see James is an impressive spokesperson, and if you are interested in helping the village, you can donate to the cause, making check to:

Maasai Water Project

C/O Infinity Church
P.O. Box 249
Fountain Inn, SC 29644

Currently James is working on a master’s degree in park management. James and I became friends several months ago when our paths crossed at Cumberland Island National Seashore, just off the coast of South Carolina. Janie and I plan to make a donation.

LOCAL UPCOMING TRAVEL PLANS

This coming week Janie and I will be making about a two-hour drive to the Izaak Walton Inn, an historic old hotel located near Glacier National Park. The stay constitutes part of my research on a book about Glacier that I’m contracted to write. Winter in this northwestern part of Montana is in full force, and currently it looks much like this scene set along the North Fork of the Flathead River. We’ll be doing lots of cross-country skiing.

Enraged bull elk; North Fork of Flathead River in Winter

Incidentally, Janie and I have invited James to visit us here in Montana, and he’s expressed an interest. I told him we have lots of moose , elk and bears here in the Rockies, and the prospect of seeing such creatures in the wild might just be the inducement he needs. If you come, James, bring your camera. And if you’re here in the fall I’ll bet we can find another just like the one posted here.

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THIS THREE YEARS AGO:

*Dolphin Superpod

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Here are the pyramids

©Bert Gildart: Turn on the TV and you’ll see the news dominating American airways concerns Egypt, and little wonder. We provide $1.5B in funds to this economically challenged country, which is now in total chaos.

We provide funds because of Egyptian oil and and because Egypt is our strongest positive link with the Muslim world. Some fear all this unrest will result in replacement of President Mubarak with a militant Muslim group that may support al-Qa’ida, a concern that seems justifiable in the wake of 9/11, ten years ago though it might have been.

Other Americans say this could simply be a wake up call, and that we should get out and wean ourselves of foreign oil. There are, of course,  counter arguments that can go on and on until you are blue in the face.

Currently our State Department is recommending that Americans leave Egypt with haste. Other nations are urging their citizens to avoid traveling to Cairo as days of protests descend into chaos. What a sad state of affairs our world seems to be in, for as most realize, Egypt has always been one of the world’s most interesting places to visit.

TRAVEL/HOLIDAY

About 25 years ago Travel/Holiday, one of the most respected travel magazines of the time, sent me to Egypt. For almost a month, I was privileged to meet an interesting and accommodating group of people, but how those memories contrast with the images we’re now seeing on TV.

Sunday morning Airplanes were flying overhead, soldiers were policing the  streets — and rioting had disintegrated to such a point that some of the country’s more responsible citizens were encircling their museums and their precious antiquities, hoping to safeguard them from looters.

My adventures there began on the cruise boat Osiris, which transported me along much of Egypt’s Nile River. Each night crewmen placed a bottle of Queen Nefertari wine in my stateroom.

Statue of pharaoh; the Sphinx, showing lack of nose, which Napoleon shot off;   pilot of small boat.

The cruise boat provided me with access to tiny villages, and it is true, many were impoverished, certainly part of the reason residents are rioting today. They believe the Mubarak government does not represent their economic interests.

“I’M JOHN WAYNE”

From the cruise boat, I also disembarked near Cairo, and one morning as the sun was rising, I visited one of the World’s Seven Wonders — the Pyramids of Giza. The Sphinx was located near the entrance, and as I studied it I recalled Napoleon had shot the nose off the Sphinx.

Though I thought I was alone, before I could set up my tripod, a “camel jockey” rode toward me, “firing” at the air with his staff. “I’m John Wayne,” he called out in a sing-song voice. Then he commanded his camel to perform several “Western” tricks.  But this guy was a con artist and soon got around to the subject of tipping. “Baksheesh, baksheesh,” intoned John Wayne, “and my camel  can do so much more.” I laughed and coughed up a few dollars.

People’s Boat; trail connecting Valley of Kings with Valley of Queens.

Near Luxor I took a bus to the Valley of the Kings, and then hiked five miles to the Valley of the Queens. I was hiking through a culture that had reached a stage of development and sophistication that none of its contemporaries surpassed and few to this day have equaled.

PEOPLE’S BOAT

Somewhere during the course of my extensive  journey along the Nile,   I boarded  a “ People’s Boat,” and then described the experience in my Travel/Holiday story:

The People’s Boat is a barge-sized vessel with a second deck aft… Donkeys stomp and bray, complaining about their backbreaking burdens of sugar cane. Robust men sit arm in arm, joking… Veiled women stare but mask their thoughts with expressionless eyes.

When I disembarked a man on a motor scooter offered me a ride back to my hotel. “Hop on,” he said. And I did. At the time I found the people friendly and helpful, though some asked for baksheesh. This man didn’t, and refused when I offered.

Camel Jockey, "I'm John Wayne."

Near the Aswan Dam in northern Egypt, I took a Felucca, a sailboat which provides Nile River residents with a means of transportation. It was the conclusion of an adventure through one of the world’s oldest and most enduring cultures, and whether or not it will be possible to duplicate it again soon will depend to some extent on choices Americans make in response to this crisis.  It is a situation we should all follow and hope our country can make  appropriate decisions about an issue that is complex and now riddled with mistrust.

Wouldn’t it be a shame if the doors on visitation to  a culture that appeared four thousand years before the birth of Christ were suddenly sealed shut.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*Gator Drama In Shark Valley

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This haunting figure greets visitors to Andersonville, part of a larger work of art created by Donna Dobberfhul.

©Bert Gildart: “It takes 7  of  its ocupiants (sic)  to make a Shadow,” wrote Sgt. David Kennedy, a former Andersonville POW.

Though conditions in POW camps in the north were also horrendous,  Georgia’s Andersonville is the Civil War  prison that has come down through history as THE internment camp that will tell the most moving story of men and women who have been captured.

My above quote was taken from one of the many interpretive panels the park has so strategically placed throughout. It is located near the Prisoner of War Commemorative Courtyard and is adjacent to Donna Dobberfuhl’s creation, part of which is shown in my first image.

The art work here is magnificent and certainly provides the photographer with the opportunity to tell a most compelling story if he uses lighting appropriate to overcome the shadows inherent in the bright setting. For this image, I used two strobes.

Janie and I visited Andersonville about a week ago and firmly believe that  its lessons should never be forgotten. To some extent  they overlap  with those  from  Gettysburg and Antietam, but as you will see,  they remain unique.

RATIONALE FOR PRISON CAMPS

Though conditions were horrible at the prisoner camp, the alternatives for the South were not very good. If the Union prisoners were released they would most likely return to battle against the Confederates.

The only realistic alternative was to create a prison camp, which the Confederates did in February of 1864, maintaining their prisoners, it is presumed, in the best way they could.

Here, men were crowded together and lived in tents called “Shebangs,” guarded from above in watchtowers known as “Pigeon Roosts.” Guards were told to shoot to kill any man who stepped over a waist-high fence known as the “deadline.” Food was scant, water contaminated and, subsequently, disease rampant.

Each day, over 100 died. Sometimes, conditions became so unbearable that a prisoner would simply end it all by stepping over the “Dead Line.”

L TO R: “Fresh fish,” were the first words most new prisoners heard as they entered the stockade doors; “Shebangs,” was the term used to describe the makeshift structures most prisoners had to live under; historic image was part of an interpretive panel.

Like other camps north and south, prisoners would be granted freedom if they agreed to sign an “Oath of Allegiance” to fight for the “former enemy.” But none did and instead choose the abysmal conditions of a POW at Andersonville rather than to dishonor themselves, their families or their countries.

“HANG THE RAIDERS”

From a movie we purchased at the historic site and which we watched last night entitled Andersonville, we learned prisoners not only had to contend with harsh conditions, but battle the “Raiders,” a disreputable group that murdered their own to improve their lot. In the movie they were subdued following a prison revolt and later Captain Henry Wirz of the Confederacy, allowed prisoners to hang five of the Raiders. Books I bought at the Andersonville bookstore substantiate the movie’s story line.

L TO R:  Touring the complex forming Andersonville POW camp; three striking figures stand at the entrance to this national cemetery at Andersonville, now a memorial to all American POWs.

During Andersonville’s 14 months of operation over 12,000 men died and today about that many marked graves fade off into the distance. There are an additional several hundred that are unmarked. The  markers haunted me, and several nights ago woke me from a dead sleep.

These deaths resulted from Americans inflicting cruelty on Americans; but, again!  It was not a condition endemic to  the South!

DEMON OF ANDERSONVILLE

Some, however,  thought conditions exceeded what was necessary to maintain prison integrity and at war’s end Union officials thought to try a number of Confederate leaders.

Park Ranger Eric Leonard lectures on lessons from Andersonville with group of students from several private schools.

Initially, they blamed General Robert E. Lee and Confederate President Jefferson Davis, but both were found guiltless. Nevertheless, Union officials found a man on whom they could heap guilt, and that blame was placed on Captain Henry Wirz. Our movie painted Wirz as a demon and perhaps he was, though there were most certainly counterparts in the north.

At New York’s Elmira Prison 24 percent of the Confederate prisoners died, nevertheless, during a trial following the war they called Herny Wirz “the demon of Andersonville.”

12,941 union POWs perished at Andersonville, their graves providing mute testimony to their brief time here on Earth.

In different times the captain might have escaped with his life for there was exculpatory evidence. But John Wilkes Booth had just assassinated President Abraham Lincoln, and officials wanted revenge. On November 10, 1865 soldiers surrounded a set of gallows in Washington D.C. and hung Captain Henry Wirz. Not far away men watched from treetops while some chanted “Wirz, remember Andersonville.”

Wirz was the only man to emerge from the Civil War (Union or Confederate) to be found guilty of “War Crimes.” Perhaps words from Lincoln’s inaugural address glimmered through the darkness that followed his death:

With malice toward none, with charity for all…

LESSONS FROM ANDERSONVILLE

Andersonville National Historic Site preserves all these poignant episodes and it is appropriate that it does so, for the function of history is not only to inform on our past, but to help us benefit from our past. Certainly Andersonville impacted Janie and me, always amazed at the manifestation of man’s inhumanity to man and its inescapable message. Unfortunately, it seems each generation must rethink this lesson, but perhaps if everyone were required to visit Andersonville the meaning would become indelible.

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THIS TIME FOUR  YEARS AGO:

*Lessons from Cades Cove

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©Bert Gildart: Driving on the east coast has proven challenging for Janie and me, but little compares with our experience several days ago along Interstate 95  just north of Richmond, Virginia.

We were bound for Cumberland Island National Seashore, when suddenly drivers started jamming on their brakes. We followed suit and within seconds thousands of drivers had slammed to a stop. Slowly, in a way that was almost agonizing, the minutes became a quarter of an hour, then half an hour… then an hour. Then two, and still there was no hint that we would soon be moving on.

By this time, natural needs began mounting and soon became urgent needs. Fortunately, this portion of the interstate is engulfed by dense pine forests  and before long dozens of men began making their way toward these thickets, strolling in a kind of nonchalant manner. After all thousands were watching and discreetness seems — at times — to be nature of Americans.

BATHROOM FEES

Interesting the percentage of woman taking to the woods was relatively small and Janie was grateful for the fact we had our Airstream in tow and that it was equipped with a bathroom. As entrepreneurs the thought occurred to us that — by George — we could make a little money here!

“Let’s announce that we’ll provide potty service and that we’ll only charge $5.00 per person.”

Vehicular madness along I-95 just north of Richmond

By this time people were still cordial, greeting one another with smiles, sharing what little news they’d gleaned from the traffic station. Our holdup resulted when the driver of a huge UPS apparently over-corrected, then turned over in such as way that his huge two-trailered cargo truck blocked all three lanes of traffic. The traffic station was advising drivers that traffic was now blocked for about 30 miles and that travelers should avoid I-95.

Quickly I did a little math trying to calculate the number of cars in the one mile stretch I could see. Because the congestion was great my initial estimate was much too high (I was thinking millions), so I tried to be analytical. Figuring that the average car (my truck is 20 feet long) consumed about 30 feet I divided 5,280 by 30, then multiplied by 3 as this was a three lane highway. Finally, I multiplied by 30 – the number of miles of congestion (lots of threes) for a conservative total of 15, 480. That’s the number of vehicles now sitting bumper to bumper. That figure may not seem overwhelming, but it was for me. In context, Montana has less than 1M people and the town in which I live has but 20,000 people; and because of geographical features it is crowded, now suffering drugs, increased crime and even an occasional drive by shooting.

You simply can’t crowd people together without having a breakdown of society.

FRUSTRATIONS MOUNT

And so we sat for an hour; then two hours, and soon I could see tempers were starting to flare. And as an avowed environmentalist I could not help but think about oil consumption, global warming, and over population, among other things. And then I began to wonder why we don’t do something about it when it occurred that the world population of humans is doing something. Wars are raging everywhere, and Americans are involved in three of them. That’s just us; look around and you’ll quickly think of manifestations: North Korea, South Korea; China and its mandatory birth control. 9/11 here! It goes on and on.

Three and a half hours later the authorities had cleared the highway and traffic began to move. I have no idea how many more miles of traffic had gotten tied up but it had to be considerable.

Armadillos are abundant on Cumberland Island National Seashore and their biology fascinated

Because waiting can prove frustrating and tiring we didn’t drive much further and quickly found a campground. We turned on the TV and learned more about the accident, but, interestingly, heard nothing about the driver of the UPS truck. Was he injured or did he survive?

Guess as the population in America now approaches 300 million (350 million expected by the year 2040) the life of an individual becomes irrelevant.

CURRENT TRAVEL: At the moment we’re in a KOA in Kingsland, Georgia,  located near Cumberland Island National Seashore, our reason for being here. Yesterday we made an exploratory trip to the island, and now want to herald loudly the virtues of this national park administered area.  I photographed my first armadillo, saw many wild and wonderful things — and concluded we Americans are so lucky to have these remnant pockets of sanity interspersed between these vast ribbons of sheer madness.
More on Cumberland to follow…

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR:

*Chaco Culture National Historic Park

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©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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