#12 - Death Valley National Park (March 2019)

Death Valley Campsite

Golden Canyon (Badlands Loop) Hike - 5.7 Miles

Badlands Loop (Golden Canyon ) Hike - 5.7 Miles

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Death Valley is a desert valley located in Eastern California, in the northern Mojave Desert bordering the Great Basin Desert.  It is one of the hottest places in the world along with deserts in the Middle East.

Death Valley was given its name by a group of pioneers lost in the winter of 1849-50.  As the party climbed out of the valley over the Panamint Mountains, one of the men turned, looked back, and said, "goodbye Death Valley."

#11 - Teaching Outdoor Skills & Western Forestry Center (1974 - 1975)

After being moved to a couple different schools, I quit high school teaching without a plan for the future.  My teaching salary of $600.00 a month didn't provide much opportunity to save.  I was living on very little money but had child support payments.  Since adversity often provides opportunity, I turned to my skills in organizing and guiding student wilderness experiences plus several courses in outdoor education and survival training.

Portland Community College had a Department of Community Education that did not offer any courses in outdoor skills.  They accepted my proposals for classes in backpacking, family camping and x-country skiing.  The Western Forestry Center was seeking a certified teacher for a course titled, Man, Trees & Society.  I was given an office and use of the Center support staff, but no pay unless I created successful programs that earned any money.  Having had no science background, I rewrote the course following a model developed by the National Park Service and added components in the arts including poetry, wood sculpting and architectural design then ended the class with instructors from OSU Department of Forestry and a field trip to their research forest.  The WFC offered several sessions of the Junior Foresters Week that I designed.  In the evenings and weekends, I taught outdoor education classes for PCC's Department of Community Education.

During one of my Western Forestry courses, a woman in the class suggested that I develop a forestry based educational tour to Hawaii.  Since the WFC had all the resources and contacts, I did the research and planning as we offered - Forests & Gardens of Hawaii.  With a group of eight people we toured  Kauai, Maui and Hawaii on an 18 day camping and cabin trip.  I drove our 12 passenger van, set up the tents, cooked the meals on an Optimus stove and enjoyed the beauty of Hawaiian beaches, forests and gardens.  Through the WFC's contacts, we were able to visit private gardens while we hiked and explored state and national forests and had access to many of the National Park Service facilities.  At each location, we were met by garden experts, foresters and National Park Service educators.  If you visited Hawaii in the early 1970's, you know how "local" it was with uncrowded roads, towns and parks.

One afternoon while setting a beach camp on Maui, I met a young biology teacher from Ft. Lewis College in stressful tears.  She had 15 students on a Hawaiian Botany class that was not going well for her.  We shared ideas on a Hawaiian program that afternoon and returned to our own groups.  The second time we met at Volcanoes National Park in Hawaii, she was beyond stress in trying to manage both teaching and operating the logistics of driving, camping and feeding the students.  I suggested that, perhaps, I could run the land portion of her course and she focus on the teaching. 

Back at my office in the Western Forestry Center, I had an idea to develop a travel program to New Zealand.  In my research, I found that their National Park system had cabins and cooking facilities.  The program possibilities began to grow in my mind with staying in some of these cabins, day hiking on the Routeburn and Milford tracks, visiting sheep farms, exploring craft towns and traveling in a passenger van similar to what I drove in Hawaii.  The possibilities seemed endless. We could stay there for 25 days and really explore the two islands.

I was called into the office of the Center's Executive Director and told that, though they appreciated all that I had been doing in my non-paid position, they needed my office and I would need to vacate it by the end of the week.   

Forests & Gardens of Hawaii Campsite (1975)

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HAPUNA BEACH

(For Christine)

Waves rolling 4 or 5 at Hapuna Beach

pidgin-tongued young men hold flippers

blue

or

red

                                                     their

sunrise eyes have examined the surf

diagnosing it fit

overhead palms rusted by age

clap with the wind

pidgin-tongued young men dash

through flickering shadows

drawn to sea in a lemming rush

Waves rolling 5 or 6 at Hapuna Beach

                                         Children play on white sand

nude

            always nude

old men stare out

 wistfully

committing the day to times gone by

pidgin-tongued young men

flippers

surf

5 or 6

children nude

                                   dash through dreams

                              of wistful old men

                                                                                        David Christopher - Hapuna Beach Hawaii (1975)

#10 - Big Foot & Outward Bound (1972 - 1974) Part II

The school administration asked me to disassociate this outdoor group from the school.  The father of one student was senior minister at Westminster Presbyterian Church and offered one of their meetings rooms for our group.  This resolved any future conflict with the school.

The first summer after Big Foot was formed, I wanted to gain further outdoor skills and applied for a Colorado Outward Bound instructor leadership course.  I was admitted and, en-route to Colorado's San Juan Mountains, met my cousin in the Grand Tetons for some hiking and a climb of  Teewinot.  The 25 day course included rock climbing, mountaineering, orienteering, team management and a three-day solo.  Unexpected additions to the course were three gang leaders from the Los Angeles area who were trying to develop rehabilitation programs.  These three fellows had never been outside the city, never camped in a tent, never hiked very far and were hilarious during our four person, three day cross-country orienteering test.

Big Foot made many outings over the following three years.  Several of the member's mountaineering skills improved and we successfully climbed Mt. Hood, Mt. St Helens, Mt. Adams, Three Sister's - North, Middle & South, Mt. Washington and two attempts of Mt. Jefferson.  We camped in the snow, built snow-caves and learned survival skills (I took a survival class at OMSI).   Multiple weekend and holiday trips were made to Smith Rock State Park where we hiked down and camped by the river.  At that time, Smith Rock was not a developed State Park with a parking lot, maintained trails and solid bridges.  It had very few climbers.  Sometimes an outdoor group from Portland State University or Oregon State University camped and climbed, but we were often alone. (Wait a minute!  What happened to that daughter brought home from India? Answer - she camped with us at Smith Rocks.)

Our basic equipment came from the new REI store in Seattle or Oregon Mountain Community in Portland.  We made all of our rock climbing gear - harnesses, ladders, anchors  and slings from webbing and climbed in our hiking boots.  One or two members had climbing helmets.

Two Smith Rock outings stand out in my mind:

We set camp above Burma Road on a beautiful, sunny weekend.  Several college climbing groups camped down by the river.  Two of our girls left camp in the evening and hiked up the road with my dog to watch the sunset.  Near dark, while they were gone, we heard a loud noise echoing through the canyons like a rock slide.  It grew dark and the girls hadn't returned.  A couple students hiked up the road and I hiked down to the river campsites to search of the girls.  After asking around, I met the Portland State group leader and learned that the girls were in their camp, in shock with bloody hands and face, wrapped in sleeping bags.  Someone drove up behind the girls and shot at them and my dog with a shotgun.  We took the girls to the hospital in Redmond where X-Rays showed pieces of shot in their hands and neck.  The nurses took care of their wounds and I filed a report with the police in Redmond and Portland, but the shooter was never found. 

Springtime at Smith Rock.  Our Adams High School member was graduating and wanted to do a major ascent.  He asked me to climb Monkey's Face.  Of course, I could.  We left camp early next morning with lunch, carabiners, two 150' ropes and webbing ladders for the 40 minute hike to the base.  I had never done this difficult a rock climb.  Except for constantly having my hand between the rock and carabiner while stepping into the ladder which hung from bolts in the rock, it went okay for a climb that took about 7 hours.  Repelling down from the top using the two ropes tied together, holding on with bruised and bloody hands was a little daunting.

Monkeys Face - Smith Rocks State Park

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And this, Agent Nicole, is the key.  It's choice'

'Choice?'

'We choose our thoughts.  We choose our perceptions.  We choose our attitudes.  We may not think so.  We may not believe it, but we do.  I absolutely know we do.  I've seen enough evidence, time after time, tragedy after tragedy.  Triumph after triumph.  It's about choice.'

'Like choice of schools? Or dinner?'

'Clothes, hairstyles, friends.  Yes. It starts there.  Life is choice.  All day, everyday.  Who we talk to, where we sit, what we say, how we say it.  And our lives become defined by our choices.  It's as simple and as complex as that.  And as powerful.

                          Conversation between Chief Inspector Gamache and Agent Nicole -  Louise Penny, Still Life

#9 - Teaching & Big Foot (1969 - 1972) Part I

I am not going to spend much time writing about my teaching, except where it is relevant to The Global Rambler.  Suffice to say, I was in the English Department at Grant High School teaching three courses that I developed:  Writing, Language & Reality and History of Rock Music.  I had many guests musicians, poets, artists and writers which the students enjoyed and the administration resented.

Maybe one event:  I had invited a husband and wife folk duet to the History of Rock Music class. They arrived at the school riding their 3 wheeler (trike) motorcycle with a guitar strapped on the back and their baby between them.  Remember, this is 1970 - male with long hair and beard, female with long hair and peasant dress, sandals on both of them.  My classroom was in the middle of the school on the 2nd floor and the parking lot was on the side of the building, therefore the couple had to walk through the hallways to reach my room.  My classroom desks were placed in a U shape with a rug in the middle where students could sit if they wanted. On this day, we had 45 students in class (my class = 27).  I introduced the folk singers and they talked about the period music and sang several songs as illustrations.  

Teachers were evaluated throughout the year by the Vice Principal who came into the classroom unannounced to observe and write a report.  It was this class session, with 20 extra students, the duet singing and the wife nursing her baby, that the Vice Principal decided to evaluate.  He opened the door quietly, came in, looked around at all the students, stared at the singing and nursing wife, turned extremely red faced and quickly exited the room.  His report was added to the stack about interfering with the school's academic environment. (Note:  I was moved to a classroom outside the main building the following year)

In the Fall, several students came to my classroom with a request.  They would like to start an outdoor club and asked if I could be the supervisor.  Of course, I could. 

A small group of 6 students met in my classroom after school to make plans.  We would gather once a week and learn backpacking and wilderness skills.  Perhaps once a month, we would invite a speaker from a local outdoor store to speak with us about equipment.  Within two month's time, we had about 15 students meeting and we decided to add some hiking and other outdoor activities. We named our club Big Foot, after the Sasquatch (I have a Big Foot silver ring on my left hand made by one of the students in shop class via lost-wax method and given to me as a gift).  At one meeting, a fellow from Adam's High School asked to join us.  Of course, he could.  This fellow brought new skills to the group - rock and mountain climbing.

As our group activities evolved, the students would bring their backpacks to school on Friday morning and put them in my classroom.  They would line the wall out of the way from teaching.  After school, we would put our packs into my International Harvester Travelall 4 wheel drive and leave town for the weekend.  

The Big Foot members were straight "A" students and students struggling to pass their classes.  The common interest was learning wilderness skills and enjoying the outdoors.  During the drives out on Friday and return on Sunday, the "A" students would assist those struggling with homework assignments.  I realize that this sounds like a clip from a movie, but the students did work together on school assignments during the drives and, sometimes, at our campsites.

Where did we go and what did we do?  Part II next week. 

Ramona Falls -Mt. Hood Oregon (2017)

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The historical record of Bigfoot in the Oregon country begins in 1904 with sightings of a hairy “wild man” by settlers in the Sixes River area in the Coast Range; similar accounts by miners and hunters followed in later decades. In 1924, miners on Mount St. Helens claimed to have been attacked by giant “apes,” an incident widely reported in the Oregon press. Local Native Americans used this event to discuss publicly their own knowledge of tsiatko, hirsute “wild Indians” of the woods, traditions first documented in 1865 by ethnographer George Gibbs.

                                                                                                                                             The Oregon Encyclopedia

#8 - India (1968) Part III

The hunters departed Ludhiana after dinner in the dark aboard our 1965 Plymouth station wagon.  Our party included my father-in-law with stage 3 emphysema as driver, a Sikh doctor from the hospital as interpreter and myself riding shotgun.  When we reached  our hunting area, we found a villager to travel with us out into the fields.  When we arrived in the fields, the doctor, villager and I climbed onto the top of our Plymouth with spotlight and rifle.  We held onto the roof rack, slowly spanning the fields with our search light, while driving up and down the rough cart/tractor tracks which divided the fields and lined each side of the water canals.  In the darkness, lit only by the stars, we peered into the blackness searching for the sudden appearance of two eyes gleaming in our light.

We spotted reflecting eyes, but not our intended prey.  It was about 11pm when we decided to try the other side of the shallow 20 foot wide canal.  A decision needed to be made:  do we get a running start and power across the water canal, or slowly creep through with the hope of not getting stuck nor drowning the engine with high splashing water?  The canal didn't seem very deep, so the power approach was selected while the hunter's held tight onto the roof rack.  We made it a little more than 2/3 across the canal before the engine died.  The good news was that we had a villager with us who spoke the local dialect; the bad news was that we were in "moonshine" territory where government officials had been shot at night while investigating illegal activity.  Also, we were only 2/3 across the canal in about 24 inches of water.

My father-in-law was not in physical condition for walking to the next village.  The Sikh doctor could easily be mistaken for an investigating government official.  "Sahib," says our villager, "get on my shoulders and I will carry you to the bank."  Sahib climbed on his shoulders and, rifle in hand, wobbled toward the canal bank. We set out at 1130pm walking to the nearest village for help, myself speaking no Hindi or local dialect and our villager speaking no English.  About 45 minutes later, we arrived at a village and asked for the head man who, often, owned a tractor.  Though well into the "moonshine," he agreed to come and pull us out of the canal.  I rode on a side fender and our villager held a lantern high in the air on back, as we drove along the bumpy cart/tractor path and stopped on the bank across from our vehicle.  Rather than pull out a chain or rope and back up for towing, the head man stopped his tractor, walked in back and returned with a jug and four dirty glasses.  He would pull us out, but first we must drink with him.  Our glass were filled and, in lantern light, we sipped our "moonshine" (In the lantern's shadow, I pitched mine over my shoulder into the water).

It was now after midnight, our wagon was out of the canal, our hunt hadn't been successful, but it was time to return home. We drove off the bumpy car/tractor paths onto a dirt road, settled back in our seats and ran out of gas 2o minutes later.  A villager staggering down the dirt road informed us that there were no gas stations nearby, but the next village had a cycle that one could ride to the nearest village with a telephone.  My comrade villager companion and I walk down the starlit dirt road, rifle in hand, seeking the village with the motorcycle so I could ride to the nearest telephone and call home for someone to bring gas.  The next village had the cycle, but it was a one-speed Indian bicycle.  It was now around 2am.  Villager on the back fender carrying the rifle, I started to peddle down the dirt road with no idea when we would arrive at a village with a telephone.  In the dawn's light, we arrived at the village, called for help and waited to be driven back to the Plymouth with a gas can.

That was my last hunting adventure in India.  Our daughter would be turning 2 years old soon and required half airfare rather than free, so I planned to return home with her before her birthday.

I will be brief regarding the following events.  We drove to the Delhi airport for our return flight, but I could not board without a cholera and yellow fever vaccination.  We drove into town for my two vaccinations and drove back the next morning to depart for intended stops in Athens, Paris and London.  Upon arrival in Athens with  my 2 year old and several pieces of luggage, I had a high fever and could barely walk.  We took the bus into town where I found a simple hotel room near the Plaka and laid in bed for two days while she played at my bedside.   I was able to get some food at a nearby restaurant.  The fever and weakness continued, so my daughter and I walked to the nearby TWA office for a ticket change and direct morning flight to New York.  We were met upon arrival by my aunt and uncle, taken to their home and I remained in bed for the next four days.  After 10 days in New York, we returned home to Portland where we were met by my parents and driven to their home.  A couple days later, my mom commented that she hoped that it was over and I would be staying home from now on.  Neither of us knew at that time, it was the marriage that would soon be over and the real adventures were yet to begin.   

Searching for Rhino in Kaziranga National Park - Assam, India

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 "The explorers who had come before and discovered facts had at the same time laid down distinctions between what was significant and what was not.  ...Such distinctions were not necessarily false, but their effect was pernicious.  Where guidebooks praised a site, they pressure a visitor to match their authoritative enthusiasm, and where they were silent, pleasure or interest seemed unwarranted."

                                                                                                                                                          The Art of Travel 

 

#7 - India (1968) Part II

We arrived in Ludhiana and settled with my in-laws into a shared house located a few blocks from the hospital.  The house was small, but comfortable.  Similar to the roadhouse, the concrete building was divided into a living room, kitchen, two bedrooms and a shared bathroom.  The three of us shared a small bedroom with two charpoys and a small bed for the baby.   I had no idea regarding the length of our stay nor what I would be doing while here.

You may be aware that the Punjab was, predominately, an agricultural region.  The area outside of town was made up of vast fields of grains which were irrigated by canals from 1 - 3 feet deep stretching down into the horizon with occasional bank dips where one could drive a tractor down and across through the water canal.  In town, we could easily obtain fresh vegetables and grains at a local market, but not reliable or recognizable meat.  In a modern version of hunters & gatherers, we would pile into the 1965 Plymouth each week and head out on a hunting trip to bring back fresh meat for our household.  Our preferred prey was the Nilgai, or blue bull, which is the largest antelope in Asia (about the size of a horse) and could be found grazing in the farmer's fields.

 

Of course, farmers and helpers are working in the fields during the day.  You can picture a hunt: Sitting astride my 1965 Plymouth mount, gazing across the 3 foot high fields of grain, rifle loaded and ready at my side, I spot our prey munching on grain 50 yard from our position.  A young male Nilgai moves, slowly, to the left and I cock my rifle, take aim and.....a field worker stands up and stretches her back 30 yards out between us and our dinner. 

Hunting the fields during the day had two considerations:  1)  farmers and helpers were out working and could be hurt or killed, 2) spotting our prey would be too easy.  

No daytime hunting.  Only night hunting.  Sitting astride the roof of our 1965 Plymouth, casting about with a spotlight......a big spotlight, waiting for an animal to look up at us so it could be identified by eye color, I would shoot....into the dark....at the eyes or the shadow beside the eyes.  If there was a shadow.  But the success of the hunt didn't depend upon availability of prey, but reliability of our trusty 1965 Plymouth station wagon.

Ranthambore Tiger Reserve - India (2014)

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"...Even walking to a nearby shop that you have been to countless times can be a small pilgrimage - noticing the particular light of the moment in time, inhaling the small of the day, getting a glimpse of life in other houses, pausing to admire how a building has suddenly been gilded by the late-afternoon light.  "Been there, done that," is definitely not a pilgrim attitude. ...Walking a pilgrimage route, wearing a pilgrim's badge, and sleeping in pilgrim hotels are not what make a pilgrim.  Pilgrimage is more an attitude than an act."

                                                                                                                   Road to Emmaus - Pilgrimage as a Way of Life

#6 - India (1968) Part I

 

The airport was dimly lit as we descended onto the New Delhi tarmac at 0100am. The perimeter was dark as far out as I could see except an occasional movement of  tiny lights. As we stepped onto the stairway, we were struck by the humid heat of India, made worse by our winter clothing.  We walked toward the airport doors, clutching the few items we had. The inside waiting area was crowded with men, women and children wrapped in thin, light, brightly colored stained and faded cotton scarves and shawls.  The crowd was strewn about seated or lying on all the chairs and benches and covering the cement floor.  A pathway through the masses wove toward the open airport doors where cars idled in various stages of disrepair, taxi signs inside, belching diesel fumes.

My in-laws met us at the door.  Porters crowded around us grabbing at the few meager pieces of luggage that we brought.  One tall, handsome Sikh in white turban spoke sternly to them and all moved aside for him as he reached for our bags.  We walked among the masses toward the 1965 Plymouth station wagon that my in-laws had shipped to India from Portland Oregon.  I would discover, after a few months, though comfortable, this was not the ideal vehicle for travel in India.

Our final destination was the Christian Medical College and Hospital in Ludhiana, located in the Punjab.  But first, an Agra drive to see the Taj Mahal.  We stopped around 2am to sleep in a cement building situated about 100 feet from the roadway.  We walked into this rest quarters which had 4 cement rooms:  a basic kitchen with sink, table and chairs; a sitting room with a couple chairs and two sleeping rooms with a two charpoys in each plus a connecting Asian toilet.  Bring your own lights.

We curled up on the charpoys wrapped in the wool blankets brought by the in-laws and tried to sleep.

I am sure that you have watched the Geico television commercial with the cute little green gecko.  Our roadside sleeping quarters had, not so cute, geckos scurrying along the floor and cement walls.  Sometimes, they would scurry across the cement ceilings.  Sometime, they would scurry onto a patch of dirt or dust and.....not sticking to the ceiling....fall on the innocent sleepers who just arrived from very clean Switzerland.

This would not be the last time we spent a night in one of these roadside quarters.

The Taj Mahal's white marble glistening in the morning sun was everything that I had ever imagined.  At that time, I did not realize how fortunate we were to be visiting in the 1960's with no tourist buses, no lines, no shops, no barriers and no crowds.  Unfortunately, I had no camera.

Taj Mahal (2006)

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 Yesterday is a dream, tomorrow but a vision.  But today well lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness, and every tomorrow a vision of hope.  Look well, therefore, to this day.

                                                                                                                                                                 Sanskrit Proverb