WARNING! Paria Canyon is not for the...

Rupophobic! 

Yes, if you fear dirt, dust, mud and scrunchy sand getting into any and all orifices, hiking Paria Canyon might not be your cup of silt. If that’s not enough of a shudder, there’s lots of ankle-to-waist deep “too thin to plow, too thick to drink” River wading miles to deal with too.  Oh! Did I mention the shoe-sucking quicksand?

Yes, Paria is both beautiful yet messy. The Paiutes Indians tried to warn us White Folks. They gave the River it’s name. Paria means “muddy water.” Hydrological studies have occasionally found two pounds of silt/mud in a Mason quart jar of so called Paria water. No wonder my trail runner shoes began to weigh as much as Fabiano boots. 

While picking up the backpacking permit in Kanab, the nice BLM folks informed us of a series of flash floods that temporarily changed the Canyon’s conditions. 

“A flash flood caused a rock slide to block a portion of the river. Hikers were practically swimming for a few miles.” She went on to inform us “Another flash flood came through and cleared the rock debris. You won’t have to swim.”

Brad (brother from another Mother) and I had to deal with mud, mud and more mud. Solid footing was a rarity. On one particularly greasy stretch, I wiped out and wallowed in the muck three times. Sure footed Brad only went down once. We were moving at a less than two mile/hour pace. A cold front chased us out of the canyon a day earlier. We covered the 38 miles in three long days. 

In October, 2009, I visited the Canyon with another brother from another Mother. Nelson and I had to deal with another set of obstacles. A flash flood had gouged out three deep pools. There was no getting around them. The pool’s depth was tall.  Nelson and I are short. Neither of us wanted to wade through with our dry clothes on. Our solution was to run them in the raw. I went first. The waterline went up to my chest. The temperature of the pool was hypothermia inducing. It wasn’t a leisurely swim. 

We did three deja vu’s of this scene. After our immersion in the third pool we were shivering. It was time to stay high, dry and walk in the sun. The rest of our hike was pleasantly uneventful except for having to be fished out of a few pockets of quicksand. 

Despite these travails, Nelson and I were both smiling at the end.

Here’s my point: Canyons like people, change. Mother Nature is dynamic and so are we. In a relatively short time I’ve gone from a full-time traveler to a homebody sprawled out on a La-Z Boy recliner with a comforter encapsulated me.

I’m not complaining. 

But here’s what hasn’t changed. The human requirement for wild places. 

When I maneuver out of this cozy chair, I still want the views, the open spaces, the places devoid of people, the dust, sweat and mud that comes with being alive and active Out There. I’m OK with the mess. Apparently I’m not rupophobic.

I’ll leave you with three quotes from the not-so-rich but famous. 

Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.

John Muir

 “Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread. A civilization which destroys what little remains of the wild, the spare, the original, is cutting itself off from its origins and betraying the principle of civilization itself.”

Edward Abbey.

“The idea of wilderness needs no defense, it only needs defenders.”

Edward Abbey.

It’s safe to say, I’m a defender of Wilderness. 

Let’s fight the good fight to protect and preserve wild places.

Jeff

“I thought it would be bigger.”

One might figure a shrinking senior citizen who occupies 5’4” of length and 138#s of space would never think of any place in such a manner. But I did, after finally getting a gander of the Wave. 

Before I continue, allow me to schmooze about the Wave. A hiker just can’t mosey into the Wave. No. A permit is required. That green light is one of the most elusive entry passes in the World. (Actually, I’m not sure of this, but it seemed that way to me. (There were over 160,000 applicants for 7,240 yearly slots in 2017. That’s a lowly 4.25% chance of winning). For over a decade, I’d arrive at 8:30 am for the 9 am lottery at the BLM office in Kanab, UT. After filling out the paperwork I waited for the drawing to begin. Eventually ten lucky individuals would become the Chosen Ones. Despite crossing my fingers and kissing my mezuzah, my number was never called in the Bingo lottery.

Being rejected is a crappy way to start a day. 

In the last few years, I decided to test my Karma on the internet BLM Wave application. Once again there are ten Chosen Ones for each day of the month. Unlike showing up in person to be rejected, the on-line app charges $5 regardless if you win or lose. I called it my monthly BLM donation. The winners/many losers discover their fate on the first day of the following month. On June 1st, 2019, I woke up to find I was a Winner for October 6th, 2019! 

I invited Brad (my brother from another Mother) to partake in this geological phenomenon. We decided to parlay the Wave with a backpack trip to Paria Canyon as well. So that’s what we did. 

The hike to the Wave is no walk in the park. The BLM doles out a rudimentary map complete with photos and descriptions. There is no mentions of distances in the frame of reference. The directions are along the line of “ go to the left of the big rock.” Well, it’s canyon country, there’s a BIGLY amount of huge stones out there. The trail isn’t marked, signed or as well trampled as I expected it to be. After all, twenty people/day leave telltale signs. Not so much getting to the Wave. 

We did a bonus mile or two, but eventually arrived in the general vicinity. I’ll admit it. I walked past the Wave without knowing it. The iconic view is in one direction. If I hadn’t  turned around to speak to Brad, I would have missed it. But, Holy Cow! There’s a reason why a photo of the Wave is a classic despite its skimpy size.

Here’s the Wave’s dimensions according to Wikipedia: 

“The Wave consists of intersecting U-shaped troughs that have been eroded into Navajo Sandstone of Jurassic age. The two major troughs which comprise this rock formation are 62 feet (19 m) wide by 118 feet (36 m) long and 7 feet (2 m) wide by 52 feet (16 m) long.”

Not exactly the magnitude of the Grand Canyon. Is it?

Yet, it’s a beguiling beautiful area that probably deserves its status of Worldly “must see” places. 

Within the last year, the BLM has been considering allowing up to 96 entrants/day into this unique landscape. Personally, I believe this would be a mistake. The formation consists of fragile sandstone. All those added footsteps could possibly damage the site. Besides it would be too many humans vying for the same photo op in a relatively small area. No one really wants to jostle or queue for that solitary selfie stick photo. Do we?

The Wave has taken on a near mythical status on people’s personal Bucket List. Limiting intrusions would prevent the Wave from becoming the next Zion’s Angels Landing or Yosemite’s Half Dome. The Wave is still a quiet, peaceful place. Let’s keep it that way. With respect to the Wave, size doesn’t matter. 

If you are planning to apply for the Wave. Good luck! If you want to be swell, take me along too! 

Cheers!

Jeff

I don’t consider myself a happy.

.person.

When I say this to people they’ll exclaim, “Come on Jeff! You smile all the time.”

My rote reply to this is. “What’s the last thing some dogs will do before they bite you? They smile.” 

Before you go aerobic and jump to conclusions, I don’t walk around with perpetual dark rain clouds over my noggin either. Through the years I learned to lower my expectations to the point where feeling content is OK. Contentment beats the alternative of depression, which I’ve had issues with. Of course, I blogged, not bragged, about it. (The WW J  might be one of the most honest blogs in the World 🌎.)

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/04/jeffy-you-have-to-be-your-own-doctor.html

However since making the BIGLY lifestyle change of settling down in Durango, CO, I’ve been feeling more than content. I’m feeling positive and happy about my choice.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/08/in-america-if-you-dont-have-address.html

Why so? Jeff?

I’ll break it down by category. 

Locally: 

Since moving to Durango, I found the few things a Minimalist like me requires from a small city.

For haircuts there’s Tucson’s Barber Shop. Mr Tucson has been cutting hair for 53 years. While he’s clipping away, I get an multigenerational Hispanic’s take on the local scene. A grooming and history lesson in one. 

For brewpubs, there’s Carver’s and Animas Brewing. Great beer, food and nice young people who swore on their menus, they would grant me one TV to watch the upcoming MLB playoffs. Just as long as I ask politely. 

For films, there’s Animas City Theater which screens movies that would never appear in the corporate cinemas. I’ve seen “Indian Horse” and “Peanut Butter Falcon.” Both were well made flicks. Plus the theater sells beer! 

Backcountry Experience will be my go-to outdoor gear shop. The folks who work there are friendly and helpful. However the biggest reason they will get my business is for what they don’t sell. This shop is one of the few outdoor stores in Durango that is not an arms merchant. 

For local hikes, I’m a fan of the Animas Mountain 7 mile loop hike. It’s a steady climb to the top of the mesa. Then the trail skirts the cliffs with views of the Animas River valley below, topped by the San Juan and La Plata mountain ranges above. I’ve seen wild turkeys (not the drinking kind), horny toads and one bobcat. After the first mile, I don’t see many people. Serenity in my backyard. 

Durango’s Vibe is more laid back, friendlier and feels safer than the Front Range of Colorado. For example: I lost my phone after a rib cracking mountain bike accident. A Good Samaritan found it, turned it on and contacted my brother Mike. The phone was returned to me via the Durango Diner. That nice local man wouldn’t accept a reward. There has been many other “Pay it Forward” incidents of kindness. 

On the home front: 

My neighbors continue to be quiet, pleasant and are willing to toss me a friendly wave. However, I’m picking up the feeling most wish to be left alone with their significant others or dogs, cats or guinea pigs. I’m OK with that. This is preferable to noisy and nosy neighbors. 

Little by little I’m making this former VRBO rental townhouse feel like my pad. I put up prayer flags to ward off evil spirits and mean people. If that doesn’t work, I have a mezuzah for backup. 

I purchased a La Z Boy recliner (named after me) to relax in while reading or watching the “Home Shopping Network.” 

The bird feeders are now seeing plenty of fluttering and flittering. Through the miracle of social media (Facebird), I have a lot more beaks to feed. I’m going to declare my feathered family  dependents. That way, I’ll be able to deduct the cost of birdseed off my taxes. 

After six and a half years of being homeless by choice, I’m sort of a home body now. In the past, I had no place to go to when I felt road weary and tired. Now I have a home/sanctuary. I was ready for this. 

Socially: 

I’ve attended a few community events. This is BIGLY baby steps for a Sociable Hermit like me. 

I tried a pre-Friday night service potluck at the only Temple in the Four Corners region. Let’s just say, being in a Synagogue is not my position of comfort. I bolted the first chance I got. However I gave it the old Yeshiva University try. 

I was allowed to be the token male in a “Great Old Broads of the Wilderness” Fen restoration project. For those of you who don’t know, a Fen is a type of wetland. There are 200 fens in the San Juan Mountains. Fens make up 2% of the World’s land mass. We gathered this info from Amanda of the  Mountain Studies Institute. After our class we donned work gloves and planted sedges in a 6.5 acre Fen near Ophir Pass that had seen better and greener days. All the women were friendly and respectful. I never felt threatened. A wonderful time was had by all regardless of sex. 

I’ve been to a few organized events sponsored by the San Juan Mountain Association. I’ve made contact with many people who have a passion for wild places. They too, get verklempt (Yiddish for choked up) when the topics of mountains, canyons and empty spaces in between are broached. I’m working on gaining their trust. I’m hoping to glean information about the Hidden Gems of the San Juan Mountains from these knowledgeable locals. All I have to prove is that I’m not a logger, litterer, miner or wildflower picker. Easy Peasy. 

This past Saturday, I participated in the Durango Chile Fest 10 K trail run. My first race in over a decade. The run featured a literal climb (I had to use my hands to pull myself up the last 25 feet to the top) of a gritty, gravelly hogback. I scooted down the opposite side on my butt. As usual, I came in first in my category. That’s the over 60, Liberal Jewish retired firefighters from the Bronx category. I always win that one.

On October 1st, I’ll be inducted into the Friends of the Library volunteer program. I signed up to be a substitute for the dedicated regulars. I’ll get a quick teach on how to open and close the FOL Used Book Store.  I’ll probably be the youngest volunteer too. Mid-November the FOL will sponsor a huge book sale. I’ll supply some of the manual labor shlepping boxes of books around. It’s a dirty job, but someone has to be an advocate for reading.

Have I made any new friends? Not a one, but I’m not feeling lonely either. 

Lastly the biggest reason for the move to Durango. Location, location, location. All these beautiful photos were taken a few hours away from my home. 

I’m smiling a lot these days AND I haven’t thought about biting one person. 

Cheers,

Jeff 

Living in Unthinkable Times...

"Four planes? That many people willing to die for the same cause at the same time? If any writer had turned in a story like this, the publisher would have just handed it back and said, 'No way. Not believable.' " 

Post 9/11  quote from Tom Clancy (American military-science Novelist)

In modern history what occurred on September 11th, 2001 was beyond the vivid imagination of a bestselling novelist. On that day, 2,977 people (including dozens of Muslims) were vanquished on what should have been just another day of work. 

We who lived through it have images imprinted in our minds of the two jets T-boning the Twin Towers, the aftermath of the Pentagon hit and UA flight 93’s forced crash landing in a Somerset County, PA field.

That day was an American nightmare. 

9/11 changed the way Americans do business. We now are willing to remove our shoes, empty our pockets, subject ourselves to multiple ID checks, pat downs and full body scans to gain access to a cramped seat on an airplane. We forego our freedom of personal space and privacy to make it harder for the “Bad Guys” to board an airplane.

Yet, most Americans don’t give a lot of thought to the yearly statistics of a clear and present danger.  “In 2017, gun deaths reached their highest level since 1968 with 39,773 deaths by firearm, of which 23,854 were by suicide and 14,542 were homicides.” ( Source Wikipedia ). I suppose they reason, that stuff happens to other people, it won’t happen to me. 

Which leads me to a story concerning thinking the unthinkable.

It was almost a decade ago that I attended Tucson’s Jewish Film Festival.  It was a warm spring evening so I bicycled to the theater. After purchasing a ticket, I  scanned the crowd. Simply stated most of my fellow film fans looked Jewish. (There’s approximately 25,000 Jews in Tucson). However one young man stood out. He was tall, gawky and dark haired. He was dressed in full-on camo. He was carrying a mid-sized backpack. It too was camo colored. I’ll describe him in a simple way too. There was nothing about the Dude that was screaming out, “I was once a Bar Mitzvah Boy!” He was standing by the snack stand ordering a beer. 

Knowing there are people in the World who don’t like Jews, I was more than concerned on what was in his backpack. I angled through the crowd, coming in from his left side, I faked a stumble while thrusting my right shoulder into the pack. Fortunately the pack  squished. No thuds or clanks. Probably, no weapons. I looked him in the eye and apologized for my faux fall. 

I felt greatly relieved, so I bought an IPA. 

Many of you are now probably thinking, “Oh Jeff! You are so paranoid,” or “You need to forget you were once in Emergency Services.” 

Here’s my answer.  I’m going to remain vigilant. I’m going to avoid most crowds. I’ll continue to be aware of my surroundings. I’ll still watch who’s coming in through the front door. I’ll check people’s hips to see if they are carrying a sidearm. 

Think: 

A Sunday Church Service. Sutherland Springs, TX. 26 dead, 20 wounded. November 5th, 2017.

A Sabbath Synagogue Service. Pittsburgh, PA. 11 dead, 10 wounded. October 27, 2018.

A shopping spree at Walmart. El Paso, TX. 22 dead, 24 wounded. August 3, 2019. 

A night at the movies. Aurora, CO. 12 dead, 58 wounded by gunfire. July 20, 2012.

A day of college classes. Virginia Tech University, Blacksburg, VA. 32 dead, 17 wounded. April 16, 2007

An evening of Country and Western music. Las Vegas, NV. 58 dead, 422 wounded. October 1, 2017.

Lastly, (there are many others) a day of learning the “Three R’s”. Newtown, CT. Sandy Hook Elementary School. 26 dead, 20 between the ages of 6-7. December 14, 2012.

After Newtown, I thought surly this would trigger a response for reasonable gun control legislation from our Nation’s politicians. I waited and waited, and only saw the usual platitudes. 

It was at that moment when I realized America could no longer lay claim to being a civilized nation. School kids were now considered fair game. 

Once again, those partners in mayhem, the Gun Manufactures and NRA proclaimed the usual drivel. It’s not a gun problem, it’s a mental health problem! 

The US does have a lot of unstable people, yet we don’t own a monopoly on mental health problems in the World. What we do own is a lot of guns. Heaps of them. “The Small Arms Survey stated that U.S. civilians alone account for 393 million (about 46 percent) of the worldwide total of civilian held firearms. This amounts to "120.5 firearms for every 100 residents." (Mind you. Americans make up a mere 4.4% of the World’s population) 

Apparently some of those firearms fall into the paws and claws of unhinged, angry Born in the USA type people. Hence in 2017, the equivalent of the entire city of Jacksonville, TX (14,500 population, 2010 Census) would have been murdered with bullet exhaling weapons. 

Until many Americans stop thinking of the Second Amendment as the Eleventh Commandment. “Thou shalt own many firearms to covet and collect.” Nothing will change. We will continue to be a Badass uncivilized country. One nation under God and Guns.

The US has a social disease. It’s gun related violence. America refuses to change the ways we do business in the sale, type and availability of firearms. 

(Book suggestion “Lethal Passage” by Erik Larson).

For the record, I do not own anything more dangerous than a few Swiss Army Knives. 

Last photo says it all.

Bullet proof backpacks for children

Shame on us.

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