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:

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/09/my-great-basin-escape.html

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/09/my-greater-sandhill-crane-escape.html

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.

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:

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2022/07/as-i-ponder-paucity.html

Come on Summer!

Jeff

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:

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/10/acuweather-fahgettaboudit.html

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.

In search of Happy Places…

When this old world starts getting me down

and people are just to much for me to face

I climb way up to the top of (Sanctuary Too. My truck and camper)

and all my cares just drift into space.

Up on the Roof

Sung by the Drifters

Lyrics by Carole King and Gerry Goffin

Face it, we’re not living in the “Leave it to Beaver” or “Ozzie and Harriet” or even the law and order sitcom “The Andy Griffith Show” days anymore. We have more concerns than worrying about Opie Taylor getting caught in a lie. 

Going about ones business has gotten more complicated. Life is as not simple as it once seems to be. To quote George Clooney from “O’Brother Where Art Though” 

“Damn! We’re in a tight spot!”

On the international scale there’s:

A daily climate change calamity. Flash floods, wildfires and dust storms. OY VEY!

The never-ending Covid Pandemic. 

A rise in chest thumping Nationalism leading to a Russian invasion of Ukraine. Thus triggering all sorts of shortages and further disruption of international trade. Plus the human  misery toll of needless death and destruction. All of this to fulfill another tyrant’s ambitions. (There sure seems to be a lot more tyrants these days too.)

On the National scene:

Speaking of tyrants. 

Trump the Loser who won’t admit as much, orchestrating the demise of democracy. Facts be damned. I want it my way. Sadly enough, a majority of Republicans kiss his ring and go along with this wayward unreality TV show. I can’t wait to see the new Treasury Bills. “In Trump We Trust.”

And furthermore:

The overturning of Roe vs. Wade. Gun owners now have more rights than women.

Hyper inflation.

The now hairline fracture between separation of church and state.

And the Merican Way of Gun Violence.

 And now on the personal front:

Back in August 2019, I gave up the Homeless by Choice lifestyle because…well, i was getting lonely out there. Upon setting up a basecamp in Durango, CO I sought guidance from that NY Times bestseller, “A How To Guide for a Wandering Wondering Jew to Meet Fellow Humans.” 

Chapter One: Immerse yourself in local events.

So I did and still do with a Covid timeout in between. 

I’ve attended: an Earth Day Celebration, the Dandelion Festival, Animas River Days, A Taste of Durango, San Juan Brew Festival (twice), Multitudes of Green Drinks, Durango Film Festival (twice), Bike Durango film and silent auction, a Celtic Festival, iAM Music concerts in Buckley Park, a Durango Trails 2000 Fundraiser ETC, ETC. 

I people watch , smile at the many strangers and generally enjoy myself. Yet, I’m not making any newbie connections. 

Chapter Two: Become a volunteer for non-profit organizations.

I do and did that too.

Book schlepper for the Friends of the Library book sales. When I’m on the job,  I’ll exchange stories/quips with the other hard working volunteers. When the gig is over, I limp away with a sore back and still feeling socially unfulfilled. 

Tree Planter and Fen Restoration Helper for the Mountain Studies Institute. (See above for results, plus multiple bloody lacerations.)

Forest Ambassador for the San Juan Mountain Association. I like this gig. I get to schmooze with mostly Pilgrim Hikers about Leave No Trace ethics. When I notice their lack of water, food and warm, dry clothes. I  break open my BIGLY day backpack. I’ll display to the neophytes what I’m carrying if Mother Nature throws me a four-seam high-heat fastball. 

To spot a Pilgrim, check the socks. Cotton=Rookie.

La Plata County Democrats Fundraiser. I was the guest bartender. Between giving ample pours, many smiles and pounds of Cutie oranges (there’s a lot of scurvy going around) I spoke to my fellow liberals. Social Result? Same as the above.

I commiserated with a Buddy of mine, he said, “Jeff! Don’t take it personally. It’s a sign of our times.” 

Another friend said it all so succinctly when describing a couple we mutually know. “They’re in their own there.” Meaning? In their own world. No need for outside intrusions. 

But I do take it personally. 

Fortunately, the other reason I moved to Durango was for its Four Corner, Colorado Plateau epicenter location to Jeffie’s Happy Places. No matter which direction I point Sanctuary Too, there’s a Jeffie Happy Place: Mountains, canyons, wilderness areas, National Parks and Monuments. It’s all within a half day’s drive of my Durango basecamp. Perfect. 

I don’t feel so alone when my needs are met. Solitude, Silence, Scenery=Serenity.

BUT! I’m pleased to report, I introduced Kwanhanumas to Durango. It was a rousing success. We even had Belly Dancers. 

Baby steps. Baby steps. Maybe one day, folks will ask me to join them for Happy Hour.

Until then, when I’m in a tight spot, I’ll go camping.

All the above photos were taken from Jeffie’s Happy Places.

When I was growing up in…

the Bronx. Sid (my father) would admonish me. 

“Jeffie! Don’t play in the street. But if you do watch out for the buses.”

Or.

“Jeffie! Drink your milk. It’ll make you taller.”

Or.

“Jeffie! Don’t get into fights. You’re small. You’ll get beat up.”

Sid never had to say to me. 

“Jeffie! When at active shooter breaks into Ms. Pagano’s class, jump out the window. A few broken bones and stitches are better than taking a round.”

Or.

“Jeffie! Make sure you always wear your bulletproof backpack when you walk between classes.”

Or.

“Jeffie! When the shooter starts firing, smear yourself with the blood of your classmates and pretend to be dead.”

So what changed?

Second Amendment advocates claim the home grown terrorists  have mental health issues.as to the “why” the shootings routinely occur. Bullshit! There are emotionally unstable people all over the world. We don’t own a monopoly on off-kilter citizens. Yet, America is the only country where kids and other innocents are fair game when the nut jobs go about their brutal business. 

Others claim the E-mosey Services (instead of the Emergency Services) response by the Uvalde, TX Police Department led to the carnage. Yes. It was tepid and lame at best. There’s no excuse for it.

My analogy would be a rookie firefighter arriving on scene to his/her first structure fire and exclaiming. “Woe! Woe! Woe! You mean we actually go into burning buildings. I didn’t sign up for this.”

 

Cops are hired to go after the bad guys, even if it means taking a bullet. That’s what they signed on for.

Both of these notions ignore the obvious. It’s the freakin’ guns that’s the common denominator to the mass murders.

Merica is awash in weaponry. In some states it’s harder to vote than it is to procure an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle. My responsible gun owning buddy Steve M. explained the major faults behind the murder and mayhem this way.

 “Wrong age, wrong weapon, wrong clip, wrong reason.”

Will we ever get back to the days when we allowed kids to be kids and play “Ring around the Rosie” without looking over their shoulders? 

I doubt it.

Until we change the mindset of the “right to bear arms” there will be other Uvalde, Buffalo, Newtown. El Paso, Boulder, Aurora, Parkland, Las Vegas, Orlando, Virginia Tech, Pittsburgh,San Ysidro   …..and on and on mass murders occurring.

A well armed society is not a polite society. It’s a sick, dangerous and broken one.

If you think I’m upset about this. You’re right.

I still don’t/won’t  own a gun.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2022/05/i-dont-own-gun.html