Tuesday, September 20, 2022

Those who explore don’t always…



discover their own version of the Northwest Passage, although some, as in Roald Amundsen do. 

That plucky Norwegian made the journey in a lightweight ship with a crew of six. In other words, ultralight exploring. It took Mr. Amundsen three years (1903-1906) to complete the passage. 

Alas, Roald’s route was too shallow for commercial use. Therefore, it was deemed worthless to the powers to be. I’m sure Roald would disagree with history’s assessment of its value.

In 1910,  Mr. Amundsen was the first to arrive and survive at the South Pole. 




I won’t kid you. I explore, but my goals aren’t as lofty as the almost mythical Northwest Passage or the out and back traverse of the South Pole. Brrrrr!

For me, its simpler than that. I’m searching for more Happy Places.



On a recent escape from the Labor Day Weekend Four Corners Motorcycle Rally. (Which unfortunately is centered in Durango). I decided to shorten the long drive to Great Basin National Park by checking out Utah’s Fish Lake National Forest.

Blogs from my past escapes:



It’s a scattered National Forest adhering to places above the surrounding deserts where trees can actually grow.



For starters, I chose a three night campout in the forest’s geologic namesake-Fish Lake. Upon arriving at the Bowery Creek campground, I discovered cigarette butts littering the site, too many graffitied Aspen trees, (who cares if “Jane ❤️‘s John” in 2009?), an abundance of ATVs and the drone of RV generators.

The nearby hiking trails led up through stands of skeleton forests murdered by an insidious pathogen or bug. The landscape was rolling ridges punctuated by meadows and cows. It wasn’t exciting or Ansel Adams eye-catching. Scenery wise it was “meh”. 



My time there wasn’t all negative though. The campsite was a Joe Namath’s pass from the shores of Fish Lake which is the largest freshwater natural lake in Utah. Ospreys hovered overhead, while I Happy Houred below. I read 2.5 books in three days. I wasn’t overworked. 

Will I ever return to Fish Lake?

Nope! 



Afterwards, it was on to Great Basin National Park, just in time for a record setting heatwave! Despite Great Basin’s remote location (south of US Highway 50. AKA the Loneliest Road in America), it’s been discovered too.



(Another victim of the Fort Collins Syndrome:  https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2018/04/the-fort-collins-syndrome.html 

To cobble together an eight night stay in the Park, required moving camp and campgrounds five times. Ahh the price one pays to stay in our Nation’s Natural Cathedrals. No complaints though. There’s heaps of Happy Places there AND now I know the best campsites!

Like Arnold The Terminator, “I’ll be back!” 



True explorers don’t give up easily. I decided to check out another chunk of Fish Lake National Forest. The mountainous section east of Beaver, UT didn’t disappoint. I took in the views and potential hikes all while camping at an IPA can’s length below 11,000 feet. It was stunning scenery with plenty of Happy Places potential. 

Of course, I’ll be back.

I have a standard line about the aging process. Do you know what’s the best thing about aging is? 

That’s one less year of money you need to live on.

On the other hand, what’s the worst thing about aging.

That’s one less year of exploring for Happy Places. 



I believe Roald would agree to this concept even though my explorations are pretty wimpy compared to his.

Keep exploring! It’s more fun than sitting at home doing solo Happy Hours.

Cheers,
Jeff 

Last photo: Even intrepid explorers need refreshments every now and then.





















Monday, August 8, 2022

A Season to Savor.



“Come on Summer!” was my fire department mantra. This simple exclamation got me through all those extra winter shifts I worked in order to “go missing” from June to September. That’s how much I love the summer season.

Now decades later, nothing has changed except I have a greater appreciation of “Summertime and the living is easy.” Maybe it’s because I have more summers behind me than in front of me. I’m well aware that time isn’t on my side. Therefore, I’m on an obsessed mission not to squander an hour/day of this (for me) primo period of the calendar year. 



“So Jeffie! What’s so special about summer?” Well, I’m glad you asked inquiring reader. 

Summer is about abundant daylight, sunshine, wildflowers, waterfalls, snow-free high country trails, camping (lots of that), baseball, outdoor concerts, patio Happy Hours, the Carbondale Mountain Fair, pika sightings, photogenic pregnant puffy cumulus clouds, Trail Angeling on the Colorado Trail, fresh peaches and barbecue.



It’s the season of shorts, flip-flops and gaudy tank-tops. (Yet, still being prepared for inclement weather at 10,000 plus feet. Remember Hypothermia never has an off-season.) 



But more than anything, summer is about my personal well-being. I’m at the top of my game both mentally and physically. I possess hummingbird energy (until 8:30 pm). I wake looking forward to the day. (Unlike winter when I feel as if an obese Mississippian Walmart shopper sits perched upon my shoulders.)



Best of all are my above tree line rambles. For lunch, I alight on a soft rock with a long view. Preferably within sight of a potential pika colony. While nibbling on a PB&Boysenberry sandwich, I take in the Rhode Island sized scene before me. Then I begin my Durango as a basecamp mantra. “This is so amazing. I live in a beautiful place.” 



In that moment, I’m at peace.

I’m happy.




Photos that require an explanation:



I took a midsummer break to rest my arthritic knees at the Carbondale Mountain Fair.. It was two days of food, IPAs and a few gummies of overindulgence. That’s me volunteering on the Peace Patrol. (Yes, I was sober!) Apparently the riff-raff  knew their was a new Sheriff in town. All was quiet on the Carbondale front.  

Just doing my job.

Special Kudos to Jim Jim and Martha for allowing me to camp at the JJMart RV Park in Carbondale. It’s the best in the West. 



Photos from my final resting place:



A summer ritual of mine is a jaunt up Handies Peak. It’s here where my estimated 6.5 pounds of ash and bone fragments will be left by Keith Sambur and Justin Sambur. (AKA the best nephews in the world.) In this photo, I’m clutching a two gallon Ziplock bag. I’ll  probably fit into that with room to spare. Why waste money on an urn?





To paraphrase one of the Passover Four Questions: “Jeffie! Why was this year’s hike up Handies different than other years?”



This year for the first time, there were two pikas greeting me at the top. The word must be getting out along the Pika Pipeline. This Wondering Wandering Jew is on our side. Jeff is all about Pika Power and keeping the fuzz balls around for future generations to enjoy. My favorite season wouldn’t be the same without pikas.

In case you missed this last post:

Come on Summer!
Jeff

Monday, July 11, 2022

As I Ponder the Paucity

of Pikas.

As I Ponder a Paucity of…

Pikas.

I shift Sanctuary Too (my truck and camper) into 4X4 Low and  thump and bump along  into thinner air, cooler temperatures and above tree-line views and hikes. In this rarefied atmosphere (where Texans are visitors who do not remain. YAY!) are the homelands of the American Pika. In these highly exposed rumbly rocky regions is where I’ll see and hear pikas. Those minute hair bags are one of the reasons I’ll sleep on high passes where most oxygen craving folks won’t.

Who needs oxygen when you can hang with pikas?



A few weeks ago, I camped and hiked in Prime Pika Park Avenue Real Estate. Sure, I was there for the views and the solitude, but I wanted to reconnect with the little fuzz balls. The day was cool and overcast, (pika weather) as I negotiated an out and back nine-mile over 12,000 feet ridge line trail, I saw no pikas. Zero, zilch, zip, nada, nil and a total absence of 
Ochotona princeps.



This upset me, but before I pulled a Chicken Soup Little and declared ”the sky is falling! The sky is falling!” I decided to sleep even higher in order to gather more statistics. So that’s what I did. On another chilly cloudy with a threat of rain day, I hiked up to 13,000 feet from the low point of 12,600 feet. I saw a paltry amount of pikas. Three.



Before I go any further, let it be known of my few talents besides making Sambini’s World’s Famous Kosher Green Chili, I’m a Pika Whisperer. If you recall from my last Pika related post I scored an exclusive interview with Shlomo the Yiddish speaking Pika. Please read to reacquaint yourself:


Back to the story…



I returned to the original site and hiked the same nine-mile out and back ridge line. All in all I spotted only three Pikas, but one of them was Shlomo.



“Shlomo! How’s ba’ you? Where is everybody?”

“OY! Jeffie my landsman! So good to see you again. I’m not doing so well. My friends and family have succumbed to the warmer conditions. We are heat weenies! My fellow members of the tribe can’t handle temperatures over 78 degrees! You’ll never see a Pika at Miami Beach. We’re running out of higher altitudes. Sniff! I’m very verklempt over this.”

“Shlomo! That’s awful. I knew something was up. I’ll usually spot 20-40 of you along this stretch. Marmots and chipmunks have moved into your old turf. I miss you guys!”

“Jeffie! It’s not easy being a climate change indicator species. We are feeling the effects front and center. What will it take for you humans to stop being such shlemiels and take climate change seriously. It’s not a Chinese Hoax!”



“I dunno Shlomo. The world is a mess. I think Yankee stadium, Candlestick Park and Camden Yards will be underwater before Americans start to act. There’s too much greed and bad politics going around.”

“That’s why I’m worried.”




With that, I handed Shlomo my signature PB&Boysenberry sandwich and a Cutie orange. It couldn’t hurt and made me feel less guilty.

Let me say this. A world without Pikas would be a less joyful one. 

Please vote correctly to make a change on climate change.

It’s happening now. Just ask Shlomo.

Last photos: 

I’m a conversational whisperer with wild burros, ptarmigans domestic sheep and desert bighorn sheep too.