I’ve always been restless.

 If you need proof, check the name of this blog.

I drove cross country when I was just 17. I was footloose and on the road even before then. The one personal correlation I’ve noticed is this. The more stressed I am the more shpilkes (Yiddish for ants in the pants) I exhibit. 

By now some of you might be thinking, “Jeffy! What are you fretting over? You live in one of the most desirable towns in Picturesque Colorado. You’re in a community with kind and caring neighbors. You’re seemingly healthy. You live a minimalistic lifestyle with no real money issues. What’s your problem!”

I’m glad you asked. So, I’ll tell ya.

1)There’s the on-going worry of being a single senior in a couples world.

2)Of course there’s Covid in which the US is lacking in responsible Leadership. IE: President Virus Vector‘s announcement on February 26, 2020:

"This is a flu. This is like a flu," the president said in a briefing. "It's a little like a regular flu that we have flu shots for. And we'll essentially have a flu shot for this in a fairly quick manner."

More downplaying from the Tax Evading Blowhard. As of this posting, there’s over 214,000 Covid deaths in the US. New cases are soaring too. (Including Trump and his ilk) 

 This isn’t the seasonal flu.

3)Then there’s the impending election with a campaigning President threatening to once again, undermine the Constitution. On September 21st, Trump said: "We'll want to have — get rid of the ballots and you'll have a very — we'll have a very peaceful — there won't be a transfer, frankly. There'll be a continuation." 

If Obama had eloquently uttered these same treasonous thoughts, Merican bred White Taliban Terrorists would be massing along 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. They would come dangerously armed and bearing lynching ropes

This is White Privilege. 

Then there’s the notable quote from the Jerry Springer show Presidential debate. “Stand back and Stand by.” We now have a President dropping napalm on the flames of angry p—-ed off militia groups like the Proud Boys. A President inciting a world of Mad Max anarchy. Shameful.

It’s correct to say, I’m fearful and stressed about current events. Since the Spring, I’ve slept more in my truck and pop-up camper than at home. Its my attempt to disconnect and getaway. 

Alas, I’m not the only one feeling angst. Campgrounds are full, yet quiet. There’s not much interaction  going on. A few friendly waves from socially acceptable distances is about it. It’s a tough time to cultivate relationships.

Despite the Covid and the Commander of Chaos, I’ve had a great spring, summer and fall. My new toy has enabled me to get to places, which were only dreamlike in my past. I’ve hiked to incredible destinations where people are visitors who don’t remain. I smiled more in my “No Service” campsites than I did in my WIFI friendly home. I slept better out there too.

Please check in on me after November 3rd or when a proven vaccine becomes available. Until then, I’ll probably have shpilkes.

BTW. My new truck and camper now have a name. It’s “Sanctuary Too.”

Stay safe, sane and healthy. Keep your head down and your mask on tight.

Jeff 

Please Vote to End...

the New Dark Ages. 

Shortly after Black Tuesday (Election Day 2016) I posted  my political prophesies for the next four years. Read it here: 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/12/heres-virtual-toast.html

Looking back, I realize I wrote the Polly Anna of prophesies. What has transpired since January 2017, has been far worse than my active imagination could foresee. Who knew a Demagogue could achieve the highest office in the land with little or no knowledge of the US Constitution, the Rule of Law or US/World History. On top of this Witch’s Brew, the Orange Man wasn’t imbued with a milligram of decency, curiosity or a desire to learn. 

Shameful.

So...this post isn’t for his titanium solid supporters/followers. (I’ll leave out Kool-Aid drinkers). The Blowhard Billionaire is giving you what you crave and desire: Do whatever you want whenever you want Anarchy, no reasonable gun control measures and multiple loaves of Wonder Bread White Supremacy. We’re all now occupying Merica the Land of the Badass. 

Kosher Note: To the 19-24% of my fellow “Members of the Tribe.” who supported this Goyim Gonif. If his extreme supporters attain more power, your vote will not assure you a “Get Out of the Next Holocaust For Free Pass.” Remember Charlottesville, VA, August 2017 and those “very fine people,” who looked and shouted like Neo-Nazis. 

Neither is this post for us Libtards who would be OK with a Lady Gaga/Dwayne Johnson Democratic ticket. Anyone (within reason) would be preferable to President P—-y Grabber and VP Spineless Homophobic. 

This post Is for the left-sided Moderates and the Undecided. This post is geared toward the Bernie Sanders supporters who sat on the sidelines on Black Tuesday, 2016.

If Merica was a true Democracy without the tired vestige of Slavery, (AKA The Electoral College and the Three/Fifths Compromise) here’s what wouldn’t have happened since January 2017.

There would be an intact Bear Ears and Grand Staircase/Escalante National Monuments. Right now their attempted evisceration is tied up in the Courts. (Like everything else the Scammer in Chief touches.) 

Take a look at the acres of public land and waters protected by recent U.S Presidents as national monuments. Preservation of Wild Lands is what Makes America Great. 

❌ Donald Trump: -5,156,814 acres

✔️ Barack Obama: 553,500,000 acres

✔️ George W. Bush: 214,800,000 acres

✔️ Bill Clinton: 5,700,000 acres

❌ George H.W. Bush: 0 acres

❌ Ronald Reagan: 0 acres

✔️ Jimmy Carter: 54,000,000 acres

Rush Limbaugh (Spit!) wouldn’t have received the Presidential Medal of Freedom. 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/02/when-i-heard-rush.html

There wouldn’t have been rollbacks in Environmental Protection Laws. 

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/climate/trump-environment-rollbacks.html?smid=fb-share

Merica wouldn’t have lost its privileged rank among our traditional Allies. Pipsqueak Putin and other dictators have replaced our former BFF’s. (Best Friends Forever). We are now a Rogue Nation. 

Wannabe GI Joe’s armed with assault weapons wouldn’t be intimidating ordinary citizens at the Michigan State Capital. I call these fellas The White Taliban.

Merica’s  budget deficit is soaring. (Remember back in the Good Ol’ Days when the Republican Party stood for fiscal responsibility?) There’s a reason the former slumlord filed for corporate bankruptcies six times.

https://www.reuters.com/article/usa-economy-budget/u-s-budget-deficit-tops-3-trillion-with-one-month-left-in-fiscal-2020-idUSKBN26304G

There wouldn’t be a dismantling of our Federal Government by placing people in charge of agencies who are either ignorant or adversarial to the stated goals of the organization. IE: Betsy Devos of the Department of Education. William Perry Pendley acting head of the Bureau of Land Management. Dr. Ben “poverty is a state of mind” Carson as head of Housing and Urban Development.  Good Government works best with good leadership. Read Micheal Lewis’ “Fifth Risk.” It’s far worse than you can believe.

The US Cabinet and Presidential Advisors wouldn’t be a “Who’s Who“ of White Nationalists.  (Isn’t  White Nationalist easier on the ears than White Supremacist?) IE: Steve Bannon, Stephen Miller and Jeff Sessions. Let’s not forget David Duke (the former Grand Wizard of the KKK) has given a Five White Star Approval Rating to the Make America White Again candidate.

Read “Rising Above the Hatred” about a Born Again Former White Nationalist.

There wouldn’t have been a “Muslim ban” on immigration. Approved by the SCOTUS in June 2018 (5-4 decision). 

Merica would still be a member of the Paris Climate Agreement. Greta Thunberg would’ve been invited to the White House instead of bullied by a Man Child on Twitter.

We wouldn’t have President America Last in paying taxes.

It’s 2020!  No conversation can last more than five minutes without mentioning Covid. Here we go:

Merica would still be a member of the World Health Organization. The US would be a Team Player on the World scene.

Merica would have had a Pandemic Response Team. The US would have been proactive instead of reactive in dealing with this mindless pathogen. The PRT was disbanded in a cost saving measure in 2018. Whoops! But on the bright side, we have a Great Wall of Racism ($11 Billion) and Space Farce (no typo) proposed 2021 budget of 15.4 billion. This makes me feel so proud. As of this posting, there’s close to 200,000 Americans dead from Covid. 

No one would have drank or injected Clorox or other disinfectants to kill Covid based on an really bad idea from a really bad man. https://www.statnews.com/2020/06/05/cdc-misusing-bleach-try-kill-coronavirus/

Merica wouldn’t have had a sitting President downplaying and fibbing about the deadly virus in order to avoid a pandemic panic. To me this claim would be hilarious if it weren’t for people getting sick and dying. Here’s the King of Crisis, Chaos and BS worried about causing an uproar. This Administration has been nothing more than fear and panic based. It’s the playbook of Demagogues. Keep ‘em scared, keep ‘em stupid. 

You get my drift. Now it’s time to remove the kid gloves. 

What transpired on Election Day 2016 was a blacklash. No typo. Too many Mericans couldn’t handle the reality of a Harvard Law School educated African-American occupying the WHITE House for eight years. What an “Audacity of Hope!” 

Unfortunately,  America’s old Civil War wounds are resistant to healing. BUT! The notion of White Makes Right isn’t limited to African Americans, although they bear the brunt of this malady.

Here’s a short list of glaring injustices produced in a Land where “all men are created equal.” 

1924: Native Americans finally granted citizenship, although some states wouldn’t allow these True Americans to vote until 1962.

https://www.history.com/news/native-american-voting-rights-citizenship

1882: Chinese Exclusion Act which outlawed the immigration of all Chinese laborers. It took until 1943 to get this turd off the books. https://www.history.com/topics/immigration/chinese-exclusion-act-1882

FDR’s Executive Order 9066. The forced relocation of Japanese-Americans and people of Japanese descent during WW II.

https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/fdr-signs-executive-order-9066

Here’s one more double espresso eye opener. In 1935, the Nazis issued the Nuremberg Laws. For the most part, these injustices made it illegal to be Jewish in Germany. Do you know what the Nuremberg Laws Nazi Committee used as a template for these dehumanizing discriminations? 

Merica’s many Jim Crow laws. https://press.princeton.edu/books/hardcover/9780691172422/hitlers-american-model

I’ll let that sink in.

Left sided Moderates, Undecided and Bernie supporters, please do the right thing and vote.

Let’s  Make America Great and Un-Racist. 

Here’s a few chosen quotes from politicians. Separate the truth from the chaff.

RIP RBG. Your righteousness will be missed. 

From Trump’s “Art of the Deal.“

My Great (Basin) Escape...

Dateline: Durango, CO Labor Day Weekend 2019.

“Blap! Blap! Blap! was the overriding noise heard during last year’s “Four Corners Motorcycle Rally.” ThIs audio assault was interspersed with choruses of “Varoom! Varoom!” It was all so “in your face” and ears. The few times I ventured onto Main Avenue, I saw Bud Light bellies, gray ponytails, lots of leather and too-tight jeans. The men exuded machismo and testosterone. A few of the women did too. Overall the scene was as far from Woodstock as one could get. 

When the long heavy metal weekend was thankfully done, I vowed to never put myself through that again. So... I flew at the chance to attend the 2020 Steamboat Springs Labor Day Weekend Crane Festival. Birders are the antithesis of bikers. They whisper. Alas, in our Age of Covid, the Crane Festival was cancelled yet the Motorcycle Rally wasn’t. I suppose loud exhaust pipes provide an immunity to the deadly virus. Although it didn’t work that way in Sturgis, SD.

My search for an alternative getaway began with my well worn Road Atlas. I looked west and further west until I found what I was seeking. There off Nevada’s US 50 (AKA the Loneliness Road in Merica) lies Great Basin National Park. Like a brewpub on the edge of town, it’s a destination. No one will ever say, “I was passing through the almost ghost town of GarrIson, UT (where derelict tractors and jalopies are considered lawn ornaments), and decided to visit Nevada’s only National Park. Heck! I just happened to be in the neighborhood!”

I’ve been in GBNP about a half dozen times. In fact, I was one of its first official visitors when the 77,000 acre Park was established in 1986. 

By now maybe a few of you are wondering what’s the Great Basin? I’m glad you asked since curiosity is a desirable trait. First off, Merica’s Great Basin is a BIGLY region. It’s about 200,000 square miles encompassing most of Nevada, western Utah, and scads of California, Oregon and Wyoming. The Great Basin is a “black hole” to water. The liquid flows in but nary a drop flows towards an ocean. (Unless you count Los Angeles 19O5 pilfering of the Owens Valley water. Read about it: https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2014/08/saving-mono-lake.html )  The landscape is stark, harsh and out worldly in nature. Long dry valleys are punctuated by many disjointed mountain ranges. The Great Basin is home to the oldest trees in the World. (Read all about them ( https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2018/10/lessons-from-prometheus.html  ) BTW. The distances between settlements are vast, please come prepared. Cell phone coverage is flip a coin hit or miss too, so the Cavalry might not arrive in time to save the day. 

The scenery is not for everyone, but I savor the space and openness.

On the human side, The Basin served as a sanctuary to a Born in the USA religion. In 1847, Brigham Young brought his LDS disciples (Mormons) to the edge of the Great Salt Lake. There he proclaimed, “This is the place.” (Why? I have no idea). 

The Basin’s 200,000 square miles made convenient hiding places for Merica’s embarrassments too. When FDR penned Executive Order 9066 during WW II, 120,000 Japanese residents were rounded up and placed in what amounted to concentration camps minus the gas chambers. Most of those folks were American citizens. It’s a shameful part of our history. (Read all about it https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2018/03/manzanar-revisited.html  ) 

The Great Basin is the birthplace of the “Sagebrush Rebellion.” (Which is still being fought. IE: the Malheur National Wildlife Reserve stand-off of 2016.) Many of the Basins residents harbor deep anti-Govment convictions. In Burns, OR the US Forest Service vehicle compound is fenced in with concertina wire. While ambling through, I keep my Liberal “why can’t we all just get along?” opinions to myself.

OK! Time for me to step out of the classroom and back to my Great Basin escape! It’s been two years since my last visit. The one and only grocery store in nearby Baker, NV (Population 68, 2010 Census) has been shuttered. Rough looking homes with “For Sale” signs are more prevalent than in 2018. Honestly it would be a tough place to live or make a living. The closest “real” towns are Ely, NV (67 miles away) and Beaver, UT (over 100 miles). Like I said before, come prepared with lots of food and IPAs. Yet! All these inconveniences don’t seem to stop people from coming. (It’s the Fort Collins Syndrome (  https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2018/04/the-fort-collins-syndrome.html

once again. The NPS campgrounds were all full. However my neighbors weren’t  seeking life long buddies or conversation. They were practicing high grade social distancing. There wasn’t one “Mayor” personality amongst them.   https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/07/people-who-need-people-are-the.html

All in all, it was a mellow, relaxed trip and not once did I hear “Blap!Blap!Blap!” or “Varoom! Varoom.”

Shhhh!

Stay safe, sorta sane in these crazy times and healthy,

Cheers!

Jeff back in Durango 

I was supposed to stay out longer exploring the vastness, but smoke and the onset of below freezing temperatures chased me back.

It’s all so freaking 2020

I’m suffering from Covid...

Fatigue. 

I’m guessing I’m not alone. There’s probably around  331,000,000 of my fellow Mericans somehow affected by this malady as well. 

Here’s my symptoms:

I’m worn out by walking halfway into a grocery store then perform a quick 180 degrees when I discover I left my mask behind. (Only to find many “It’s my rights!” folks are unmasked in the same store.) I’m sick of the smell and feel of hand sanitizer. I’m burnt out from repeating my new mantras. “Don’t touch your face, eyes or nose.” and the ever popular  “Wash your hands!” I miss summer blockbuster movies and mindless brewpub patio Happy Hours. I’m tired of pondering “where have all the hugs gone?” I’m over the lameness of watching baseball (when their aren’t Covid cancellations) without real live fans in the stands. I’m exhausted of thinking about a future with more questions marks than answers. Most of all, I’m disgusted with Merica leading the World in total Covid cases and body count. (Shouting “We’re Number One! We’re Number One!” seems inane and inappropriate.) 

Covid has grown weary to me.

So how am I coping with this daily assault on my senses? I leave, that’s how. I say a silent “Bye Bye” to the endless news and possible sources of contamination. I head up gnarly roads with my 4X4 “New Toy.  I find isolated spots to camp. I hit the hiking trails early while others are still in “snooze mode.” I see incredible 100 mile views. I stay unmasked and mostly to myself. With any luck, I lack cell phone coverage. I eat when I’m hungry, sleep when I’m tired and take solar showers au naturel. My Happy Hours consist of IPAs, a bowl of mixed nuts and a NY Times Bestseller non-fiction book for company. The days go by in a simple and basic way. I feel stress less. I smile inwardly often. 

You might be thinking I’m Robinson Crusoe. I’m not. Sure, it would be nice to share the solitude with like minded folks. I’ve gone fishing  for company, however most of the time I return with an empty creel. I suppose everyone is dealing with Covid Fatigue in their own way. 

Good thing I had those 6.5 years of experience living alone in a Van down by the river! 

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

So Fellow Sufferers, hang in there. Maybe we can meet for a drink on the other side of Covid

Until then,

Stay safe, somewhat sane and healthy,

Jeff

Rowing near...

Nirvana.

In my first year of living in Durango, I noticed the moment when Spring morphed into Summer. 

“How’s that? Jeffy“ Well, I’ll tell ya. Mountain bikes began to yield to watercraft on vehicles and trailers. All of a sudden my fellow Durangoans were schlepping rafts, pontoons, kayaks, duckies, and SUPs (stand-up paddleboards. I just learned the acronym a few weeks ago). Alas, there were no rowboats. Not even the inflatable kind. 

Rowboats! Who the heck cares about those cumbersome craft in the adrenaline junkie town of Durango? 

Me. I care.

When I made inquiries on where I might find a small slow rowboat, the locals gave me grief. “Dude! You need a whitewater kayak! Where’s the challenge of taking a rowboat on flat water?”

I patiently explained to my listeners. “When I wake up in the morning, I extend my left index and middle finger onto my right wrist. If I detect a palpable pulse, I’ve passed my daily challenge. The rest of my day is bonus.”

If they question my manliness further, I’ll follow with “how many burning buildings have you made entry into?” That usually stifles them.

There’s a reason I own an infatuation for those barely moving vessels. It’s sentimental. That’s why. 

When I was still a fledging under my parents wings, springtime would eventually settle upon the Big Apple. A cadre of buddies and me would take the Lexington Ave #5 train downtown to 77th street. We didn’t carry much except a pot-induced smirk, a few bucks and a return subway token. 

We’d dawdle our way to Central Park while enjoying the uniqueness of of our fellow New Yorkers. Our sojourn was usually around the Easter/Passover weekend. Of course, we’d see Jesus look-a-likes decked out in flowing white robes and sandals. But what really caught our attention was his nascent followers bowing at his feet! We never saw a Passover Moses though.

Our ultimate destination was the rowboat rental kiosk in Central Park.  Once we placed a deposit on a rickety, leaky craft, we’d perform a watery lap around the 22 acre Central Park Lake. For a bunch of teenagers born and raised in the Bronx, this was nearly a Wilderness Experience. We’d see carp, turtles, ducks and swans. We fixated on the green water, the vegetation and not the nearby canyons of skyscrapers. It was quiet and peaceful for NYC standards. This made a lasting impression on me. Enough to realize residing in the Big Apple wouldn’t be in in my future.

Nearly a half a century later, I found myself in Durango’s Big 5 sporting goods store. There I was waiting to pay for a pair of trail runners. The customer in front of me had a sizable box on the counter. I noticed the words “Inflatable rowboat.” Off I went to check the product out. Hmm. Two person boat, three inflatable chambers and holds up to 440 pounds. Why that’s 3.18 times me! On the box there was a photo of a GQ looking man chivalrously extending a hand to assist an attractive young woman aboard the boat.

Wow! Potential dates for a mere $59.99. SOLD!

Ionically, the manufacturer named the model “Challenger 2.” On my maiden voyage I rechristen it the USS Sambini. (My old fire department nickname. Much more preferable than being called “Hey A—hole!“ ) 

Now,  you’ll find me on the mighty (47 acre) Pastorius  Reservoir. (Just like Lake Superior only different). I’m there a smidgen after sunrise. It’s just me, the birds, the silence and the placid waters. The only skyscrapers are the nearby La Plata Mountains. While I’m putzing around along the shore, I feel content and happy.

Ahoy Mateys!

“I’m Popeye the Sailor Man...”

Stay safe, sort of sane and healthy. 

Cheers in our time of Covid.

Admiral Jeff 

I wasn’t born in a small town...

Well I was born in a small town

And I live in a small town

Probably die in a small town

Oh, those small communities

Small Town 

Lyrics by John Cougar Mellencamp 

Unlike John Cougar M, I never lived in a small town, until now in Durango, CO. (Population 19,000). 

In 1978, I chose to take the purported advice of Horace Greeley to “Go West, young man, go West and grow up with the country.” I left the chaos of New York City behind along with its 7.8 million inhabitants. Let it be known I never agonized over my life changing decision to leave the “Big Apple.” 

I moved to Fort Collins, CO where the population was about 62,000. At the time, it felt sort of puny. I remember all the hubbub when it’s first Target store opened on the outskirts of South College Avenue. The common comments one heard was “who’s going to go all that way to shop?” Now it’s location is considered less than midtown. When I moved away in 2009, Fort Collins’ population had grown to 141,000.

Next stop was Tucson, AZ with its 525,000 inhabitants. My furniture were barely in my rental’s door when I knew it wasn’t a right fit. I felt like a small Gefilte Fish in a big pond. On top of that Tucson was far from thriving. The “Old Pueblo” felt... well old, worn and in dire need of a makeover. The streets were rutted, litter was as prevalent as cactus and petty theft seemed to be the rule of the land. I made very few human connections there. (You know who you are.)

Alas, due to a lower than average cost of living and a recession fueled degradation of my 401 pension, I was economically stuck there for four winters of discontent. 

Then in July 2011, the “Poop Happens” dart of fate intervened. Harshly. I was rear ended on my bicycle by a sedan. I woke up in a ditch. I broke eleven vertebrae and sternum. My face was made messier than usual. It took me a year to heal.

Eventually I received a monetary settlement. Financial Freedom. I wouldn’t advise this as a way to bolster your retirement savings. I sold, tossed or donated all my worldly possessions in my final winter of discontent in Tucson AZ. In April 2013, I became “Homeless by Choice.” 

Leaving Tucson wasn’t a decision I agonized over either.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/06/i-never-thought-of-myself-as-a.html

For over six years, I traveled. By the spring of 2018, the rootless lifestyle had lost its new Barley the CamperVan feeling. 

I wisely chose Durango, CO to settle in. 

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

I moved to this regional center of Southwest Colorado primarily for its location to so many square miles of Wild and Scenic places. (All these pretty photos except a few were taken within a few hours drive from my home). The city might be small but the views and surrounding landscapes are BIGLY. 

But there's another thing that’s HUGE about my new hometown. Durango is a petite city where people have San Juan Mountains sized passions. Since moving here, I’ve had the pleasure of attending two meetings of Durango Green Drinks. What’s that you might ask?

Straight from the website: Durango Green Drinks, a fun, informal monthly gathering organized by the Sustainability Alliance of SW Colorado. A fantastic group of sustainability-minded local non-profits sponsor the event and rotate hosting responsibilities. October is being hosted by our friends and partners at Mountain Studies Institute and The Wilderness Society. It is a fun and relaxed opportunity to connect, chat, network, and be inspired. Brief announcements are followed by short presentations by host organizations, which rotates monthly. There is plenty of time to network and catch up with friends. Green Drinks is non-partisan.

After a lively Happy Hour, a handful of people got up on soapboxes and spoke about their passions/causes. Here’s a few examples:

An earnest young Mother was seeking signatures to present to the Durango city council. She wanted to place distance restrictions on how close microwave towers can be to a residence. “My children got sick when a cellphone tower was placed near our home. We moved. Now they want to put another tower near my new home. I don’t want my kids to get sick again.” Whom was I to doubt her? I signed her petition.

An older gentleman was asking for people to participate in a silent protest to raise local awareness of the “Climate Crisis.” 

A member of “Conservation Colorado” spoke at length about environmentally friendly politicians running for office. He held the crowds attention. 

A member of the “Great Old Broads for Wilderness” talked about the non-profit’s advocacy program pertaining to wilderness preservation issues. She went on to state the GOBOW aren’t all talk. They sponsor hands-on mitigation projects as well. I’m a dues paying member of this organization.  I attended a fen restoration project. They call me a “Great Old Bro for Wilderness.”

Throughout all these presentations, I sipped my “Yankee Boy Basin” IPA and grinned. I too, have my passions. I burn at a higher than 98.6 body temperature when it comes to these environmental/wild lands sensitive issues. I might have found “my people.” They were speaking my language. 

I’m feeling at home here. 

Just wish Durango had a Target Store.

Cheers from the prettiest part of Colorado,

Jeff

PS. The bartenders in the brewpubs know me by name. They pour me an IPA without me asking. Not sure if this is a good thing!

I mentally prepared myself for...

The worst for my gig as an Ice Lake Trail Educational Ranger. My  assignment would be talking up “Leave No Trace” Conservation Ethics to hordes of hikers. 

FYI. Ice Lake is the most popular and populated trail in the entire San Juan National Forest. 

A few days prior to me “going live” I attended a San Juan Mountain Association volunteer meeting. (I’m a dues paying member of this feel good non-profit organization.) The informercial took place at Happy Hour in the SJMA parking lot. All attendees were masked up and socially distanced. Naturally, I brought a six-pack of IPAs to share with my fellow stewards of the land.  

The cooler was socially distanced too.

I had one taker. Tough crowd. 

Three SJMA staff members gave three distinct point of views on crowd control on our public lands. The one factoid I gleaned was this. Ice Lake was scoring 500-800 visitors/day on a sub-8 mile (round trip), 2400’ elevation gain (one way) trail. That’s a lot of Facebook selfies. Of course the gorilla in the corner was Covid and political divisiveness. I walked away with more questions and concerns than answers. However after 28 years of being in emergency services, I know there are times you have to shrug your shoulders and wing it. 

I arrived around 7:30ish to a nearly full parking lot. In the time it took me to fuss with my backpack and gear, the parking lot was in overflow status. I donned my green SJMA baseball cap and a gray US Forest Service volunteer t-shirt. It wasn’t a uniform that screamed, “You will respect my authority!” (Quote from Cartman of “South Park” fame.)

I headed up the trail. The sky was shockingly blue. The temperature was hovering in the perfect zone.

Armed with my avid imagination, I figured the trail would look like Mile High Stadium after a Broncos overtime win. I noticed a few discarded doggy poop bags and one crumpled can. I’ve seen worse. Most of the hikers I passed had “game on” for Colorado’s fickle mountain weather. (Bulging backpacks with water, food, rain gear and dry, warm clothes.) The early hikers are usually “in the know.” This wasn’t their first rodeo. 

Generally speaking, it’s the late starters, who are ill prepared on what might lie ahead. The give away is their I Phone in hand. I suppose they have an “app” for food, water, shelter and warm, dry clothes. 

My hike up was uneventful. Mostly I was saying a masked “Good Morning!” Every now and then, I’d perform a welfare check on folks. Fortunately, all seemed conscious, oriented and alert. At Ice Lake, (elevation 12,260’) the crowd was subdued. It was as if they had arrived within a Cathedral. (Which in fact they did, just one without walls or religious guilt.) I took my lunch in an out of the way place. Afterwards, I turned downhill. 

The uphill crowd was thicker than hours ago. Many were hiking with their four-legged friends. About 50% had their hound tethered to them. I sincerely thanked them for this curtesy. Other pooches walked in lockstep with their owners. I thanked those dog lovers for training such a well behaved canine. Then their were the troublemakers. The Bowsers who were ranging far and wide from their owners. They were looking for mischief. To these owners, I’d say, “Excuse me. I’m Jeff, I’m a volunteer for the Forest Service and a local mountain loving conservation organization. I believe your dog might be harassing the wildlife.”

Most were cool, and immediately leashed their wandering dogs. One woman asked me so innocently, “There’s wildlife here? What kind?” 

Outstanding! I had an audience.I ascended my invisible podium. “Well, there’s ground squirrels, chipmunks, deer, marmots, lots of birds and my favorite-the American Pika.” (I was working the patriotic angle here.) Next she asked, “What’s an American Pika?” I began to warm up to my roll, “American Pikas are arguably one of the most adorable mammals in our Great Nation. They are the size of your fist, tawny gray in color, with little round ears and no tail. They live above tree line where you are heading. They are hard working vegetarian farmers. True salt of the Earth animals. This is their time to “make hay while the sunshine’s” They’ll feed on their harvest throughout the winter months. If your dog chases them, that’s less time for them do their chores. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for a winter starved mild mannered rodent. Would you?” 

She called her dog and leashed him. “Sorry! I wasn’t aware. I totally understand. Thanks for the explanation.” I was smiling behind my mask. “Score!”

I went back up to Ice Lake the following day. I disassembled a few fire rings (blazes are verboten in the Ice Lake corridor) and picked up some detritus. I did some bonus elevation and miles to nearby Island Lake. I made more contacts with my emphasis on making recommendations to the bevy of backpackers. I kindly asked them to make camp in the lower basin among the trees. I explained it this way. “The above tree line tundra is deceptively fragile. Camping upon it, might cause resource damage. Besides, we’ve been getting afternoon thunderstorms. Your shelter has lightning rod aluminum poles! One more thing to consider, your tent might photo bomb someone’s Facebook selfie.”  That last point got their attention. Many nodded in agreement.

Score II.

All in all, I felt the experience was a positive one for me and hopefully for some visitors. I was thanked more than once for being “out here.”

Alas, in our time of Covid, I’m hesitant to partake in this gig again. Many guests come from the Virus “hot spot“ states of New Mexico, Arizona and Texas. At times the trail is quite narrow with  no place to get aside in an appropriate socially distanced  manner. Masks like mine were the exception instead of the rule. At my age of 65, the cost/risk benefit is too high. 

With Merica’s body count soaring, I’m more than concerned. I don’t want to contract Covid. It would put a major damper on my hiking and Happy Hours. I’ll surely volunteer again in the post-Covid effective vaccine future. (Whenever that may be).

Last photo: If people overcrowding weren’t enough, there’s llama jams on the Ice Lake Trail too.

Stay safe, sort of sane and healthy,

Jeff