At least I didn’t have to cut my arm...

off. 

Was about the most positive thing I could think of when an uneventful day of hiking became an eventful day. 

After four nights of blissful, quiet camping northwest of Lake City, I checked the maps to see if I could do an short, easy hike before driving back home to Durango. I was in luck. The Colorado Trail and the Continental Divide Trail bisected Spring Creek Pass on Highway 149. Bingo! 

Heading east from the Pass would take me to Snow Mesa. My National Geographic map showed the trail was just south of the Continental Divide where Baldy Cinco resided. It’s a prominence of 13,379’. Surely there must be a social trail heading off the CT/CDT to gain those peaks. 

It was a forested uphill slog to the lip of the Mesa. What I saw then was Kansas flatness (minus the wheat) stretching out for miles. It was also compellingly beautiful. To my left, were the peaks. I kept looking for a trail heading off toward them. None. I decided to go cross country aiming for a saddle between the two high lumps.  I angled up along the tussock grass towards what I thought was the higher Baldy Cinco. It was steep. On top I was rewarded with Colorado county size views and an eight foot rock cairn. I pulled out my PB&J sandwiches and my map. I checked out the surrounding region. Hmmm...that must be the Skyline Trail on the lower saddle just below me. 

At 10:54 am, I sent my family a selfie summit shot wishing them all “a safe and happy Labor Day Weekend.” A few minutes later, I did the same for my billions of Facebook fans. I repacked my gear and headed downhill. 

Later on I realized I summited “No es Baldy Cinco.” ( A lovable local name). At 13, 227’, it’s still pretty impressive rising out of the somewhat featureless tableland. 

It took awhile before I gained the level ground again. I walked perpendicular to the peaks figuring I’d run into the CT/CDT. I didn’t. How could that be? They were around here hours ago. Who took them? I walked some more across the eye catching sameness. Still nothing. I sat down, pulled out my map and tried to figure out where I was. I wish I could say I was Sir Ernest Shackleton cool, but I wasn’t. This is what I knew. I couldn’t find what I was looking for. I knew there seemed to be a trail near the top of “No es Cinco Baldy.” I made a quick game plan. I’d ascend the prominence again and exit out what I figured was the Skyline Trail. So that’s what I did. 

Skyline Trail? petered out in no time. I followed the lay of the land knowing (according to my map) the trail eventually plunges down the Tumble Creek drainage. At a lower saddle, I stumbled upon a solid looking trail. I pulled out my phone, I had two bars and 80% battery power. After opening the “My Altitude” app, I ascertained the coordinates and the elevation. I scrawled the info on my map. (Yes, a pen is survival gear.) I called 911. It was 2:14 pm. 

“911. What is your emergency?”

“I’m not quite sure of my location near Baldy Cinco. I have my coordinates and elevation and was hoping you could tell me if I’m on Skyline Trail. I’m sure you have better access to a topo map than I do.” She didn’t really know what to do, so she forwarded my call to the Hindsdale County Sheriff.

I spoke to a young sounding sheriff who quickly passed the phone to an older sounding one. He took my coordinates and went to work. 

It took some time as I watched my battery power decline, “So?  Am I on the Skyline Trail?”

“Yes. Stay on it and eventually you will come out to a dirt road. Highway 149 is about two miles away.” 

“OK. I’ll call you back so you know I made it out. If not come looking for me. You have my last set of coordinates.” 

The trail sputtered and popped. Sometimes it resembled a ghost vanishing act, sometimes a deer/elk/cattle track other times well trodden. I kept moving. No breaks. No giving myself a high five and breaking out the IPA and cake. I stayed focused. I wasn’t out of this yet. Two hours later, I came across the following sign. I knew where I was now. I took a sip of tepid water. Two hitch hikes later, I was back in my van. The time was 4:46 pm.

Here’s what I did wrong. 

In my haste to make “No es Baldy Cinco”, I was focused on the summit goal. I wasn’t turning around to pick out meager landmarks on where I left the CT/CDT. My bad. 

I got cocky. I was in unfamiliar territory. I needed to pay more attention, not less. I’ve had a string of no problem years of hiking (for the most part) without losing my way. I became temporarily immune to screwing up.

Here’s what I did right.

I got an early start. I moved quickly. World famous mountaineer Ed Viesturs wrote in “No Shortcuts to the Top,”  speed is a safety factor. Being quick buys you time. Getting 

farblondzhet (lost in Yiddish) is better when there’s six hours of daylight left, then at sunset. It’s the same if an injury slows you down. 

I carry enough gear to survive a night out. My day pack is the weight of many ultra lite aficionados multi-day backpacks. I had a Windstopper hoodie jacket and three layers of fleece. For eats, there were two Clif Bars and two spare oranges. I pocket a map for the big picture.  I have a Bic lighter to start a warming fire. I had a pen. I carried a cell phone which I leave off 95% of the time. It would have been an IPA-less and coffee in the morning less experience, but I probably would have survived. I DO NOT carry a Swiss Army Knife to cut off my arm. (My apologies to Aron Ralston).

I did not “bend the map.” In Laurence Gonzales’ thought provoking read, “Deep Survival” he mentions the term. In other words, making what you want to believe fit the reality of the map. (Not that Sari or maps are irrefutable). I thought I knew where I was (Skyline Trail) but I called 911 for a second opinion. It worked out this time due to cell phone coverage and a Sheriff who did the leg work of checking my position. 

It’s not easy writing a blog in which I admit to making a lot of mistakes. Yet, I did write it. If this blog gets the attention of one person, maybe they will avoid the errors I made, After all, I’m past the age of going into burning buildings and performing other crazy acts of heroism to make a difference. 

Please have a safe and happy Labor Day Weekend. What’s left of it.

BTW. Can anyone recommend an app to keep me on the trails?

Cheers,

Jeff marked safe and sound in Durango, CO.

Last photo.

I have prayer flags watching my back.

The Art of the Deal vs. the Art of ...

War. 

In this corner representing the United States of America stands President Donald Trump (spit!). The former reality TV star and present day Commander in Tweet is 73 years old, weighs 243# and stands at 6’3”. He is the disputed author of “Trump: The Art of the Deal.” The real author is Tony Schwartz, who states the book should be “recategorized as fiction.” 

This former NY Times bestseller is part memoir, part how-to business guide. There’s pages about Don’s early years growing up in a log cabin with a dirt floor. (Whoops! Wrong President!) The book goes on to give 11 get rich quick ideas to all wannabe billionaires who happened to have inherited beaucoup bucks from their fathers. A notable quote says it all.

“I promote bravado. I play to people's fantasies. People may not always think big themselves. but they can get very excited by those who do. That is why a little hyperbole never hurts. People want to believe that something is the biggest, the greatest and the most spectacular.” 

In other words, if you can’t Wow them with facts, Wow them with “alternative facts.” AKA: Bull Poop. 💩 

BTW: Trump has filed Chapter 11 bankruptcies six times in his business career.  Then there was that $25,000,000 settlement to the students/suckers who bought into the fraudulent claims of Trump University.

Accepting business advice from this book would be like paying attention to a vegetarian explaining the best way to prepare and grill a steak. 

Despite all this, the Art of the Deal is “The Chosen One’s” favorite book. It’s probably the only book he’s ever read. 

Now we’ll expound about the “Tariff Man’s” opponent. China. 

A little about China. There’s nothing a little about it. China is the most populated country in the world. (Nearly one out of every five humans is Chinese). Size-wise it’s the third largest country in the world. As far as age goes China has been around the sun a few times. There’s over 3,000 years of recorded history. (I know it wasn’t written in English.) China was once called the “Sleeping Giant.” Well, Goliath is now awake and fully caffeinated. China’s economy is second only to the US. Globally, it’s a tough country to ignore.

China is all the above and possesses a secret weapon. His name is General Sun Tzu. He wrote the “Art of War” in the late 6th century BC. 

I’ll give credit to Wikipedia for this synopsis: “The Art of War remains the most influential strategy text in East Asian warfare^[1] and has influenced both Eastern and Western military thinking, business tactics, legal strategy, lifestyles and beyond.”

The book contains 13 chapters of brilliance. American General Norman Schwarzkopf has been inspired by this read. 

Here’s a notable quote from General Sun Tzu: “All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.”

In other words, don’t Tweet your intentions to the World! It’s my opinion the Trump vs. China Trade War is a mismatch. The Chinese powers to be think in multidimensional layers. The Chinese have learned patience through the ages. Our Man in Charge is no Economic Think Tank. He’s as impetuous as a Child. My analogy? It would be like me challenging Shaquille O’Neil to a One on One half court basketball game. No contest. 

You’ve heard it here first. 

Lastly, I once wrote a book. No other author has jumped up to claim it. It won the prestigious IPPY Gold Medal Award In 2012 for self-publishing. I think it’s a good read. It’s not my favorite read though. 

Pick it up on Kindle and you will donate $2.00 for my next Happy Hour IPA. 

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B006VXRMUG?keywords=Jeff%20Sambur&qid=1447125667&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1b

 

Cheers!

Jeff (the why can’t we all just get along guy)

“Hey Colorado it was not that long ago...

I left your mountain to try life on the road

Now I'm finished with that race it was much too fast a pace
And I think I know my place Colorado I wanna come home.”

Lyrics by the Flying Burrito Brothers

A few weeks ago, I moved all my worldly possessions (which happened to fit in my van with room to spare) to a townhouse in Durango, CO. For the first few days, I wandered around all this living space while making adjustments to the furnishings and framed artworks. I’d take down a painting that didn’t mean anything to me, and replace it with an old black and white family photo. I moved excess clutter and gizmos to one of the many empty closets I now have. I filled my cupboards and refrigerator with food items which would provide me with tasty and healthy meals. My personal comfort foods. I’m doing a deep cleaning of kitchen and bathroom counters, carpets and tiled floors. On my outside patio, I hung two bird feeders to attract feathered friends. I’m now buddies with a flock of hummingbirds, a squadron of rough-looking English sparrows and one peaceful mourning dove. 

I’m making the place feel like my home and sanctuary. 

As far as my new community goes, I’m making an effort to become more involved with the locals.

I’ve introduced myself to a few of my neighbors. All are young, pleasant, polite and friendly. I like that. 

I’ve joined the only Jewish Temple in the Southwest of Colorado. This doesn’t mean I’ll be attending services, (lightning would strike the synagogue) but I’ll keep my eye open for non-Jewish guilt events presented there.

I’ve become a member of the “Friends of the Library” where I might volunteer to help in their used book store. All proceeds go back to the Public Library. 

I joined the San Juan Mountains Association. I’ll attend a meeting soon to hear more about events and volunteer gigs which might suit me.

I’ve became a dues paying member of Great Old Broads for Wilderness organization. No, this doesn’t mean I detoured to Trinidad, CO for a sex change operation; it’s a national grassroots institution dedicated to fighting the good fight for our public lands and waters. Women are more diplomatic about conveying ideas than men are. (Especially me!)

I’m now known by name (and IPA fan) to a few of the brewpub beer-tenders In Durango. 

Last night, I attended a concert in which the proceeds went to the local NPR station. The crowd was a stew of young families, older folks and tattooed, pierced and dreadlocked youth. There were even a few Hispanic and Black folks in attendance. Everyone seemed to play nice together. I liked that too. 

It’s a brave new world for me. I’m thinking this is a positive start. I’m feeling content about things. So far, so good.

All the photos have been taken in and around my new expanded backyard.  The final photo is located in the nearby San Juan Mountains. X marks the spot where my final remains will one day be placed. (Hopefully, a long time from now!). Yes. This move has always been about location, location, location. 

Chillin’ in Durango on a Sunday afternoon,

Cheers!

Jeff

Young Men and Firearms...

For years people have been asking me if I were afraid to hike alone in wild places. 

I had a quick, honest and made for TV response. “Not all at. When I walk away from the parking lot,  I leave most of the fear inducing life forms behind. People.”

Unfortunately, more people are venturing into wild places. For me, the scary ones are now carrying sidearms. 

A few days ago, i was returning from a delightful hike to the base of the iconic Lizard Head Mountain (13,114’). I was at peace with myself and the world when I noticed an upcoming Perfect Storm of potential people problems. 

In a lush field barely off the trail, I saw an adolescent Siberian/Attitude mix dog unleashed and chasing any and all things that moved. Nearby was a White Guy carrying no gear except a very prominent sidearm. (FYI. I’ve only seen multitudes of Caucasians civilians carrying. Never a person of color, unless they are Law Enforcement Officers).

Since I was moving, the cur bounded toward me. The four-legged assailant blocked my path.  It was growling between barks. I stopped. I looked at the owner and politely asked. “Sir? Could you please call your dog?” (Mind you, I was the senior citizen in this encounter.)

“Ahh! Don’t worry. He won’t bother you.” 

Well, that was Fake News. I detoured way off the trail with the sociopathic canine woofing and snarling at my behind. Yes. I was scared. A perfect hike, a perfect day ruined. All because a 9 mm toting White Guy had the upper handgun on me. I couldn’t raise a fuss. I couldn’t tell him the US Forest Service rules: “Domestic pets are allowed in wilderness areas. Pets should either be leashed or under direct voice control.”

 

I had to take the abuse because the White Guy was armed and maybe dangerous. 

Which leads me to this point. When I’m feeling brave, I’ll occasionally ask a Second Amendment supporter, “Why are you armed out here? What is there to be afraid of?” They usual answer is, “I’m carrying in case I’m attacked by wildlife.” 

That’s total bull-dinky. Marmots, pikas, deer, prairie dogs, wild turkeys and chipmunks aren’t biped eaters. As far as black bears go, they are rarely seen and not heard. My last Ursus Meetup was in 2015. All I saw was it’s big black furry butt trotting away from me. The chance of spying a mountain lion is even less. I got the drop on one over a decade ago. I slow blinked and it was gone. 

These folks carry because they fear the unknown equation of strangers. They don’t trust me. So...why should I trust them? The answer is. I don’t. 

Post script: When I returned my rattled self back to the parking lot, I noticed a manly red diesel truck displaying an AR-15 decal. Of course, there was an NRA bumper sticker too. I didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to guess whom the truck belonged to. 

I tossed my backpack in Barley the Van and fled. BTW. Below is a photo of my most aggressive bumper sticker. I know, very intimidating.

On a final note: I predicted an increase in gun induced Mass Murders/Mayhem and Hate Crimes in two post-Election Day 2016 blogs.

“There will be no new "reasonable" gun control legislation. The few constraints on procuring firearms will be shot down. Purchasing a weapon of mini-mass death and destruction will be as easy as "Coffee, Tea or Glock?" There will be an uptick in the number of mass murder incidents.” 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/07/freedom-is-not-free.html

“There will be an increase in Hate Crimes. No need to elaborate on this. It'll happen. Candidate Demagogue unleashed the hate mongers. (Hitler never directly murdered anyone, but his rants were responsible for 11 million victims perishing in Germany's concentration camps.)”

Sadly, in America we harbor Home Grown White Guy Terrorists. A Wall won’t stop them. 

Last photos: A band of ISIS.

A band of Second Amendment supporters at a rally in Olympia, WA.

Personally, I’m not seeing many differences between the two photos.

We live in strange times...

 

“In America, if you don’t have an address...

you’re not a real person.”

Notable quote from Jessica Bruder’s “Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century” 

It was fitting that I read Nomadland before terminating six years and five months of a “Homeless by Choice” lifestyle. The book is a well-written account of the fringe members of American society who consider themselves to be “Houseless” although not homeless. Their domiciles are mobile. Ms. Bruder’s real life characters reside in vans, sedans, pick-up trucks and RVs. The author pens a not-so-glowing version of the stigma of the single man in the white van. Her description rates a Grand Slam. I know, I blogged about this one month prior to her book’s publication.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/04/the-stigma-of-single-man.html

The houseless subjects in Nomadland, had all fallen off the main grid of normal society. Their lifestyle choice was forced upon them. They had no other options. Simply put, they had zilch money for a mortgage or rent. (One interviewee had her $40 life savings in her pocket.) The reasons for their economic plight were many: divorce, job loss, the Great Recession or drug/alcohol abuse. Many had just made bad choices. They “zigged” when they should have “zagged.” Somehow they survived by taking seasonal gigs at Amazon warehouses, sugar beet factories and being campground hosts. I wasn’t envying them.

The 100 Watt bulb glaring difference between me and them is this. I have money. I can afford to pay rent or a mortgage. I don’t have to eat a steady diet of hotdogs on Wonder Bread. As I’ve said to many people, “I’m not destitute. I just look and act like I am!” Most of my fellow Americans didn’t believe me. I became adept at ignoring the incoming hairy eyeball looks.

It was in the Southwest Spring of 2018, when my lifestyle choice began to, I’ll say it, piss me off. It was a colder, windier and rainier/snowier spring than normal. Veteran NPS Rangers at Death Valley National Park said the temperatures were running 10-15 degrees lower than usual. In the campgrounds my neighbors RV heaters were humming throughout the night. I huddled under four blankets. 

My season of discontent moment came at Panamint Springs, CA. I had just returned from a pleasant amble to a few old mining sites. I was barely in Barley the Van’s sliding door when another cold front sprinted in. Wind,  rain then hail slammed into the Van. I made a Lipton’s Cup a Soup to alleviate the sudden chill. Outside conditions hadn’t improved by the time I finished slurping the chemical concoction. “Maybe I should just go home”, I thought  Oh yeah, I don’t have a home. Then I shouted into my 66 square feet of living space. “This sucks!”  Soon thereafter, I began to weep.

It was then, I knew,  I was ready for my own address. I wanted to be a “real person” once again. 

I warned you this day was coming!

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/05/seeking-contentment-in-land-of.html

Last photo: Proof of my entry into adulthood. House and van keys. A Durango Library card and a set of hearing aids. If I like you, I’ll stick them in.

Next post! A Jackie Kennedy look at the Town House.

Cheers from Durango, CO,

Jeff