ApheIchthyophobia

When I was in the first grade, the class had a small aquarium full of guppies.  At the end of the school year our teacher let us take some home.  I remember being thrilled to have my own pets, not shared pets like our two dogs.  My mother got a small aquarium from somewhere. It couldn't have been new because of ongoing financial issues from my dad being in and out of work. I digress and digest: it's called multitasking, folks. So we got a glass box, full of water and colorful rocks, to throw live animals in. Yep, my Lite Brite didn't stand a chance.

I was no good at cleaning the tank and dealing with the dead, but I was sure as hell good at feeding the damn things.  For some reason, these fish started leaping out of the tank. It scared the Jesus out of me.  Bejesus was still safely inside, awaiting for that encounter in third grade with the hobos in Woodland Park. I know my brother and sisters were getting fed up with taking care of my pets; eventually, the responsibility of taking care of these fish on my own would be unavoidable. 

So one day I come home from my friend's house to see a couple of fish flopping around on the floor. I tried real hard to get them into the net, but I couldn't. I tried grabbing them with my hands, but something about the struggle and the fish moving around made me lose my shit entirely. I ran into my room screaming and didn't come out until my mother got home. So, dead fish on the floor and me having emotional problems, my mom took care of the dead fish and then "suggested" that the older kids have fish as pets.  

To this day I still have to fight not "losing my shit" when having to handle live fish. I don't care to touch dead fish, either. I do it when I absolutely have to, but I usually let someone else handle them.  I think I can live with that.

Short stuff

I'm keeping it brief tonight. If I kept it boxers, that would be silly. I found my way back into the mountains again. I am enjoying that. Waterfalls are now my thing, so the mines and ruins are off to the side for now. This evening's hike had me wondering what dogs could tell me, if they could talk, about my crotch. Pretty much all of the people with dogs on the trail had to pull their pooches off of smelling my nads. As far as I can tell, they're just plain nuts.

I've been doing more work at a storage unit that my family shares. The goal is to get people their stuff, throwaway a bunch of crap, and get the hell out of there by the end of July. I found a couple of boxes of my old hobbies, mainly radio controlled cars. I was the first kid in my neighborhood to get into building these things. When the other kids got into it, I ended up helping them build theirs and repairing them. Anyway, I decided to see if any of this old stuff was worth anything. Most of it isn't worth much more than fun memories, but there are some items that could fetch some nice dough.

One of the items is an old scale model, radio-controlled truck that was mostly metal and engineered unusually well. I bought this truck second hand from a hobby shop back when I was doing a paper route in seventh grade. It was old then, but it had a certain charm about it. I was going to buy a new car to have as a project, but I bought this truck instead. I never could find the parts that I needed, back then, to fix it up, so I boxed it and forgot about it. I grew out of that hobby as I got my license. Now, I am revisiting that time in my life.

This truck turned out to be a "holy grail" of scale model radio controlled cars. So I've begun sourcing the parts I need on Ebay (something the thirteen-year-old me never could have dreamed of). This little Toyota truck is going to get fixed up and then sold. It will have a new home of some man that wants to capture a part of his childhood in amber. It isn't my thing anymore. I believe that it was my job to obtain it, be the caretaker, and now the restorer of it. The joy I will get is finding ways to spend the money from selling it.

Is that all? Yeah, for now. Toodles!

The 'Roid of Thy' which functioning is low but reading was high

I am rather pleased by my title. It wraps up my current health woes nicely.  We're talking small potatoes, as far as what I've dealt with. But I keep wondering, what's next with the gift that keeps giving? (That is, having gone through cancer and chemo/radiation treatment.) So, it was a lack of energy, a dash of chest pains, and weight struggles that had me wondering what the pluck was wrong with me.  My regular cancer checkup's labs came back and showed that my thyroid is now not functioning very well.  The good news is that I am going to get some medication to help.  I hope, with these drugs, I turn into Superman, 'cause it would be real rad to fly wearing only red and blue underwear. A boy can dream.

SUPER GOITERMAN AWAAAAAAAYYYYYY!!!! (I don't have one of those, but I couldn't resist the pun.)

Narc

I've had fun posting about my adventures here on the blog.  My last adventure is one that I was looking forward to blogging about, but I can't. Why? Because, your stupid fearless adventurer wandered into a rather suspect camp and informed law enforcement about it.  I spent last weekend having phone interviews with city police, Sheriff's Department, and the Forest Service. My photos and such, plus not being able to talk about it sucks.  The plus side is that if they make an arrest, I get a reward.  Maybe someday I'll be allowed to talk about it openly.  I'll say this, the site had a few possibilities that had law enforcement interested enough to launch an investigation. One thing's for sure, I'm never going back that deep into that area again and I'm not giving the location until things are cleared up.  I got out of there without harm, but that's because I am lucky that no one was home at the time and because of my survival skills acquired in 'Nam, er, Order of the Arrow (Boy Scouts' Delta Force).  I kid, but I'm not joking about this.  What good is an adventure if you can't brag about it?

The Further Adventures of Sir Grunty Chicken Caesar

My thoughts tonight aren't that organized. Some family stuff has my neurons a bit tied up--nothing super serious. So I thought that doing a fun post without a lengthy narrative would be better for the both of us.

I was at this place a bit ago. My bro took the photo. It's easy when you can drive to places, so long as it is in a 4x4. My truck does alright. It's just a bit thirsty. Anyway, I'm looking at something I found in the overburden from the ore bin.

I may be a fool, but  I knows gold when I sees it! Albeit, this is a very small 

amount, trapped in rock. 

I also went on some big solo hikes and found more adventure and DEATH CARS!!! Well, this '30s era Chevy truck is dead, but I don't think anybody was killed in it.

I'm pretty sure that this one had blood on it's dash. This is why hiking below old mountain roads is always interesting, and spooky. Speaking of spooky...

This is the first mine that I visited on my hike last weekend. I really, really, didn't want to get wet. That didn't last long....

I am a fool for adventure and so went for a nice wade in this ice cold tunnel. The boys didn't appreciate it much.

I eventually made it to higher, dryer ground and found some cool rails leading the way.

Usually, the ties rot out and the rails come loose in these old mines, but these are still well intact.

This was quite a find: a cast iron, hand-crank winch. I came across this as I was exploring a second mine in the area. I was descending from one level of a mine to this level, which led to another adit (opening).  The vertical shaft that this winch was used for was back filled, fortunately.  I would love to haul this back home and display it out front, but this thing wasn't going to budge--it must have weighed a thousand or so pounds.  The top gear came up to my shoulder, so it's near five foot tall.  The crank was frozen, but that didn't stop me from trying my damnedest to break it free.

This was inside the last mine from last weekend's hike (four total). This is a partial cave in. You can see the timbers nearly giving out while trying to support the stope. Seeing as how I don't have a wife and kids, and my neighbors think I'm uncouth, I figured that if I didn't return it would give them less to talk about in the church correlation meetings. So I went ahead and crawled through my own personal death wish.

This is the view just after I passed through the partial cave in. The opening is not that large--just enough for me to crawl on all fours. You'd like to see that, wouldn't you? Sickos. Anyhooter, I had my sunglasses in my shirt's front pocket. The glasses fell out and down in a crevice. "Balls", I said, "Filthly Dog's Balls!" They were my favorite glasses; they made me feel cool like Fonzie.

These are the fruits of hiking your ass off. This was from an earlier adventure three weekends ago. I went in search of an old mill site.  I found a clearing where it was supposed to be but nothing else, with the exception of one piece of rough cut lumber sticking out of the earth.  You can see the wetlands and Great Stench Lake off in the distance.

 I love beaver. I love dams. I love them, Sam I am.

When I become Bill Gates' beneficiary, I am going to have slaves carve my likeness into this rock. A castle built on the pinnacle would be my next choice.

This is from a hike in April. What you see here is a small clearing where a cabin used to be, way up on the mountain.  The cabin burned down in the '40s after the man who lived there blew up his moonshine still. He had a mine nearby as well, but it was blown up by the forest service. Bastards!

Here are pieces of cast iron from a furnace that I found in the vicinity of the cabin site. I also found some old bed springs and loads of pipe strewn about. I wonder what in the hell possessed the guy to live all the way the hell up there in the first place? Maybe he had church people trying to "correlate" him too.

Lobster Hat and other things

There's this part-time employee where I work that defies all common sense as to why he still has a job, especially in this economy. I won't go into all the details of why he shouldn't still have a job, but I will share a few things with you that will bring some amusement.  He told some of us at work how he was overweight as a child. This wasn't exactly a stretch for us to imagine, since he's about 300 pounds. He shared with us a story about how the restaurant Red Lobster made him feel better about himself when he was a fat kid.  He fondly recalled that whenever his family went to Red Lobster, they gave him a "lobster hat" to wear. This made him feel special, he said. Well, it was a rather touching story. He ended with, "Yeah, they're my most favoritist restaurant in the whole wide world!"  He followed this story with this, "My sister-in-law told me about a job and I'm gonna apply for it. I'm going to work at a dog factory. Um, dog food factory. They don't make the cans there, but I think that they make the food that goes into the cans. It's a warehouse job. I don't think I'll like driving forklifts. I'm scared that I'll hit something. Do you think my wife will let me have a dog if I get that job?" This is what happens to Ralph Wiggam when he grows up.

Yesterday, I was doing some ongoing cleaning out of a storage unit of my family's.  A lot of my deceased sister's belongings were stored there and sorting through her stuff has been a job that I've taken on.  Occasionally, I will find something that will open my eyes to my sister's past. I was sorting through her book collection--flipping through the pages to find notes and such.  I was going through a new, unread book.  It looked to be something she intended for someone else; it was. A note inside read, "For my boyfriend Jack, who has no balls."  This note had me rolling in laughter. My sister's humor is something I'll always miss. I'm just glad that I got to hear her crack one out posthumously. (For those who don't know: Jack was her last boyfriend, who left her in a hard place--she was fighting a serious alcohol and prescription drug addiction in the last year and a half of her life, which ultimately claimed her. She had previous troubles with alcohol that we--family--were never aware of.)

People who ride ATVs are on my shit list. Why? Because they just are.  Well, some are and some aren't. The ATV is not to blame, it's the idiots who ride them.  I guess what I am trying to say is that ATVs are great at enabling idiots to reach places they normally wouldn't be bothered to venture, due to the effort involved.  This idiot delivery system minimizes the appreciation of distances and terrain covered. So, in other words, an idiot is not humbled enough by the exertion of bike, hike, or horse. They get to a place and wreck it like it is their own little garbage dump/playground.  This is why I am angry: the structures and/or places are full of litter, tagged with "gang" symbols, and going to ruin faster than normal. I understand the appeal of riding ATVs and I have enjoyed riding them.  But the idiot factor gets my blood boiling.  

My grandfather "Vern" used to tell me that it was WWII that ruined the wilderness.  He said that the returning GIs and other people bought up surplus army Jeeps and 4x4s.  This led to people traveling further into the woods than before; people who were not as appreciative of their environment. He would say that they brought the city with them and left it there to rot.  I listened to my grandfather Vern and now tend to leave the "city" behind me when I go into the hills.

Lobster hats for everyone!

Proof of my advetures and stuff!

My eventual destination was the ridge line just at the top left of this shot. I wasn't certain where I should be headed at this point of the journey, but I figured that I would use my intuition and memory of what I saw on Google Earth to find the mine works.

I was hoping to do a more complete post on this, but providing my audience with proof of my adventures is top priority! The outing started off last Saturday with my brother and I driving up a desert canyon towards some mountains. We had spotted an interesting area on Google Earth and wanted to see what was up there. Well, the plans got foiled when my brother's Ford Exploder was not up to the task of going up the rest of the trail. So, I told my brother that I'd hike the rest of the way up myself and take pictures of what I found. I told him I'd only be a couple of hours. Four and a half hours later, this is some of what I found, in no particular order....

Me holding my find: a single-shot, break breach shotgun.

This is part of the tramway that the mine used to haul the ore down the mountain.

This is the main entrance to the mine.  I explored what I could and the network was decent. As for what I didn't explore, I was alone and had no desire to find out if "bottomless" pits were really bottomless.

One of several structures that I found. Most were foundations or had collapsed in on themselves completely.

I hiked to the top of the ridge to get cell reception. I needed to let my brother know that I was still alive (he was down the canyon in his car waiting for me). When I started down from here I noticed the butt end of a gun sticking out of the dirt. I pulled out the gun that you can see in the picture above. It must have been forgotten. I'd say that it had been there a year or two--nothing rare or special.

This was taken on my way up to the ridge mine. My destination was to the left of the shot.  Directly ahead of me is a beautiful mountain.  I have plans to hike up it in the future.

The gun after a light cleaning and oiling. I was able to break the breach open and cock the hammer. It wasn't loaded.  I haven't figured out the gauge yet. It's smaller than my two pump actions. As long as I can get the inside of the barrel clean and the breach seals properly, it should be safe to fire.

The remnants of an old building.

The wheel from the top tram house.

This was one of those pits I was talking about.  The complex (not this shaft) probably went down 1,000 feet, evident by closed adits seen on the way up. Look at the vein of iron ore; I'm not sure that's what they really were hoping to find.

Poltergeist or deadly gasses? I'm thinking it's a gassy Casper.

In conclusion, I am awesome. The End.

Ten Things that happened

1. I had a birthday.
2. I saw The Avengers.
3. My back got better.
4. I had a disturbing dream.
5. I learned that it doesn't matter, so long as you don't murder them in real life.
6. I went for a long hike, took pictures of old frontier ruins, and explored many mine tunnels.
7. I found a shotgun up on a high ridge. It was half-buried in the ground.
8. I did not find human remains near the shotgun, but wondered if it were dumped there by a criminal.
9. I am stupid and took the gun with me. I plan to restore it and shoot at old T.V.'s and other "desert" appliances.
10. Discovered that my deceased mother recently shared something on Facebook; thus, proving that the afterlife can be just as mundane as the present life.

In reference to #9, I present...

Back-ack-ack!

I threw my back out. Why? Because I wanted a new one. So I am now rocking the prescriptions--relaxin' with some Skelaxin and friends.  I can see how recreational avoiding pain can be.  But I am just an old fuddy duddy and follow my recommended dosages.  Wheeeeeee! More like "Whe--this kind of feels less like shit."

Backstroke through

I want to change my frequency. Put me on vibrate, but out of phase with this world. Let me see what is in between. Thrown bricks become my gentle breeze and so does the absurdity of society. Waves cancel out existence for a brief moment, only to be born again and headed in opposite directions. Polar schisms branching out towards the extremities of humanity mark the climax of the mind's expansion. I look for a shift between these two worlds, so there is no collusion, just an aural swirl--a communication of differences. Let's not hit the reset button this time around. I want the world to remember what happened, and muse upon how we evolved.

God is everywhere, even under the sink

Where is the most unusual place that you've found God? I once found God hiding in a cupboard. Frankly, it scared the hell out of me. But I just had to stand back and say, "Oh, God". What a prankster.

There was a time that I found God in the supermarket. Really. BTW, God brings his own reusable shopping bags.

The last time I found God was at an art gallery. He was looking intently at a painting depicting human suffering. I looked at the painting and then up at him, without first recognizing him. His eyes met mine with some surprise and then awkwardness. He turned away and walked towards the back of the exhibit. I never got to ask him why. WHY GOD? WHY??? Why is there so much bad art in the world?

Forgive me.

Fester: the day after Easter!

Why do I have to go back to work? Why do I need money?? What is that smell coming from the pantry???

These are all questions that plague me, especially on Fester.

By the way, how was your Easter? Mine? Well, I did the Jesus thing and it was fun, because I was running on three hours of sleep. I've been having major anxieties and concerns for some family members lately. How does my mind choose to deal with it? An all night puppet show, featuring worst case scenarios, intrigue, and Hail-Mary style solutions to all life's problems. Who wouldn't want to stay up all night for that?

It wasn't all bad. I did go for a good long hike today. Guess what I saw? I saw an actual rabbit, a cottontail. That sucker was mighty cute and fast. I'll take that sighting as a good omen.

Freakin' Allergies

Head throbbing. Nose stuffed up. Eyes itchy. Bleh. Still doesn't explain all the farting.

Major Bummer

I attended a viewing (couldn't stay for the funeral) of a former co-worker today. He committed suicide on the 14th (self asphyxiation from car exhaust) . Man, the dude was only 21. He leaves behind an expecting wife, who has a lot of social anxiety problems. I've been pretty bummed about this for the past week, but I've kept it fairly quiet.

I know most of his family personally and it just doesn't add up. He came from a great and loving family. He was really great with his wife. He worked hard and was a warm, friendly young man. You can't do the math on this kind of tragedy--you'll go mad if you do. There's no one thing that is the cause. There may be a trigger, but it is not the sole reason.

I don't like going to funerals, but this was worse to see a man in his prime laid out in a casket: his family in their best contained sorrow and his sobbing wife, beyond grief, stuck in a dead-eyed stare with her deceased. If I could paint a picture of this scene any better, I'd promptly burn it to hell and rid the world of such a sight.

This was absolutely senseless, but I cannot judge him. I have no idea what was really going on in his world. I can say what things in my life drove me to similar shades of bleak, but I cannot be that person who knows the answer or "knows exactly how they felt", because I don't. There's too much suicide where I live. It can't be glossed over anymore.

The frauds have to own up to the conditions that they've (we've) set upon us. If we allow frauds to be our fathers, friends, or inner voice, they will only lead us over the bridge and into our own reflection--the last thing we'll confront before the impact is the truth--ourselves.

You can read whatever you want to in that last statement. It has its own merry meaning to me. Take care of what is dishonest in your own personal life and seek professional help if that is not enough.

You just want attention

I know I do. It's late and I'm lonely. You'd think that I'd have something profound to say, but no, I'm just horny for your comments.

In other snooze, I have a major sinus headache. There's something for ya!

In smother noose, I did achieve my very important goal that I was worried about--the one I wrote about in the previous post. What was the goal? Seeing how long I could hold my breath under the influence of jazz rock. I did three minutes, eyes closed. Beat that, the rest of yous!

In udder ooze, I did send my cover letter, resume, and application in time--5 minutes before the job closed. I haven't heard anything back yet. The job is a coordinator position for a program that helps disabled adults find careers. I live my life with my "adult" settings mostly disabled, so I figure I'm a shoe-in.

In buttered shoes, I can't get enough of Diet Coke. I think this means I'm going to hell, or McDonald's. Wait...it's the same thing. Glug. Glug. Sluuuuuuuurp! Still feel empty inside.

In gutter booze, I'm more afraid of my dependency of watching "Supernatural" episodes on Netflix, or as I like to call it, my alternative to a "step on my balls with high heels while I freebase cocaine" type problem. I'm not sure what I just said there, but it's late and I'm horny for your comments. Be nice, okay?

Mojo, where art thou?

It's not happenin'. Things are not going my way, it seems. My body is rebelling against me, adding the hurt and magnifying my discomfort. Files that I swore I transferred from my old computer to this computer are nowhere to be found. It appears that I'm not going to achieve a very important goal that I set for myself this week. I want to ball all of this negativity into excrement and crap it out once and for all, light it on fire, and then dance around the stinky blaze, laughing maniacally.

It isn't funny. I actually just found out that I've been wearing my underwear inside out. This explains a lot.

Pics of random adventures in a local canyon

This was about three years or so ago. I was doing an eighty-foot rappel. This section was fun because you would drop down with nothing to touch for thirty feet. You can see that I just kicked off and am about to fly down. It's all kid's stuff, though.
This is an example of the stuff that I find off of the beaten path and why I really like finding mines. Pictured above is part of a steam compressor that has been abandoned for over a century. Oh, and the mines...They are a bit scary, I admit. But I am not too afraid to pop in and see what might be lurking in them. I occasionally find big ones; however, most are small prospects that either never produced or the ores were so poor as to not be profitable. Some mines later served as a hideout for moonshiners. Even more interesting are the mines that were used as scams. These played out or phony holes were "salted" with gold from a shotgun blast (the shot replaced with some amount of real gold or silver) or other method, so that crooks could lure in investors and then run off with their money. With gold at today's prices, you'd really have to con some serious money out of someone in order to make it worthwhile. It's these kind of stories that intrigue me the most, not the hole itself. I also like hiking to "death" cars. Having a couple of connections to search and rescue, I get the low down on these grizzly places. This one was particularly gruesome. Three guys came down a dirt canyon road at night and missed a corner. This is what a six hundred foot tumble looks like. Two guys died, with one of those guy's head getting completely crushed. The third guy was thrown out of the Jeep a third of the way down. Although he was seriously injured, he crawled up the incline to the road, nearly died, but then was found and saved. It may seem a bit weird, but I know of guys who have scavenged these wrecks to fix their own vehicles. Don't worry, I would never do something like that.
Then you have more appealing to the masses stuff: waterfalls. I would have to say that checking out waterfalls is my first love when it comes to hiking. Just to give you some scale on this picture, that rock on the right is about twelve feet tall. A sad story about this waterfall: A girl fell to her death here about ten years ago. She was with her boyfriend. They were walking around the rocks at the top and she slipped and fell head first down to the bottom. Her boyfriend scrambled down the hole (the bottom is a very treacherous spot to get to) only to find that he could not do anything to help her. So, he ran down the canyon as fast as he could to get help. In fact, he ran so hard that he broke some bones in his feet from the impact. It was not enough, though, and it was later determined that she had died instantly.
Well, I can't have a bummer ending for y'all, so I thought I'd include my other favorite thing to find on my expeditions: finding rock art. Now, this panel was not in the same canyon as the previous pictures, but is still in my hometown. These simple figures were probably drawn by some Shoshone or possibly Blackfeet--they were both in the area before the settlers came and pushed them out. I've found better examples of rock art outside of my backyard, but I still enjoy hiking up and looking at these little bunny-eared stick figures.

Solo Expedition, Nov. 20, 2011: Discovery/Excavation of Tunnel

This site is high up on the mountain. I drove up a dirt road up one canyon and then hiked down to this location. It's really steep. You take a tumble and it will take awhile to stop rolling.
Anyway, these might look like your everyday rock outcroppings, but underneath lies something hidden. I got a feeling looking at this ridge line, from a canyon road miles away, that there was something man made here that had been taken back by mother nature or TNT.You can see my ruck sack and pickaxe, ready to go to work on what I could tell was the remnants of an old prospect.After about a solid hour of swinging my pick, leveraging out some pretty big rocks, I managed to break through. This confirmed that I wasn't smoking old ropes from the garden shed after all. What you see is the largest I could make the opening, due to a massive rock slab that had fallen from the ceiling wouldn't let me dig the hole taller or wider. It was time to either leave, tape a camera to a willing squirrel, or suck in my gut and squeeze through this birth canal. I chose the last one...and it was almost the last choice I ever made.
The slide in was terrifying. I had a sharp rock digging right into my back while my stomach was trying to slug crawl over a smooth domed rock. I relaxed and let gravity take me down into the pit. In the picture above you can see a tunnel that is pristine. Nobody has been here for many decades, if not, a whole hundred years. There were no indications of footprints in the dirt, litter, or animal nests. From what I could tell, it was a very old prospect that collapsed not long after it had been abandoned. I was rather excited to be the first in a long time to be in this place. Little did I know that soon I would be in serious trouble. Though, the euphoria I was experiencing didn't let on that I was waltzing into my tomb--usually when one is giggling and stumbling around in the dark, it isn't deep inside a mountain hole that they just dug their way into.Bad air in mine shafts is something that I've certainly read and heard about. I clearly knew better than to just jump in this hole without a buddy, without more safety precautions, and (duh) letting the damned thing air out for a week. I was too jazzed to remember these important details to not leap in like I was chasing a leprechaun into his den. Like I said earlier, I started feeling euphoric. I was getting dizzy and started laughing for no apparent reason, other than it just felt good. I don't know what I was breathing, but it wasn't oxygen. It was probably carbon dioxide or possibly methane gas. The moment that I realized that I was suffocating, I got my wits back enough to turn around and head back the hundred or so feet that I had walked in. Despite my legs feeling heavier than lead at this point, my retreat was frantic, bumping into the sides of the tunnel as I weaved.The sight of blue light coming from the entrance calmed me down. Despite the urgency of the situation, this was picture worthy--I mean, it was like a micro rapture happening for me right then and there. It's hard to express the terror I was experiencing, yet somehow I was still in some strange la-la land of foggy elation. These feelings were all going on while I was thinking about potential death and how to escape from it. Nobody could even know what was happening to me at this time. It was all me and the Great Gazoo.

I laid down on the ground for awhile where this picture was taken. I could literally taste the air on my tongue. However, resting at this spot wasn't getting me enough air. My head was hurting more than I've ever experienced before, with exception of having actual head injuries. I started my crawl up the collapse to my hole, pushing my pack ahead of me.

The thing about climbing up, versus sliding down, is that now I have to use all my muscles to climb out. When I use all my muscles, I get bigger--I can't suck in anything. Simply put, I did not fit. I was smart enough to pop my pickaxe head off and throw it down the hole before hand. I don't know why I did this, but I am glad that I did. This move saved my freakin' bacon. I slithered back a bit and dug out the pickaxe head. I only had enough room to paddle the dirt from side to side, down behind me, as I rocked left to right. This was slow going, but I eventually made enough room to get past the tightest spot, but then my feet didn't have enough room or traction to get me out the rest of the way.

The pickaxe handle was left at the hole (you can actually see it at the top of the hole in the last picture). I reached and grabbed it with my right hand, turned it sideways, wedged it into the sides of the outer rocks, and pulled my body up enough to make it out to safety. I spent another twenty minutes laying outside on the dirt pile I had made. My body was burning, and my head was taking longer to clear than I had expected. Snow flakes started falling all over my body, but I didn't care; it felt good. Embarrassment and triumph are odd feelings to have at the same time, but that is what I felt at that moment. I gathered myself together, thanked God for saving me from my own retardation, and then realized that I still had to hike a long way uphill back to my truck.

Good times: I won't ever do that again by myself. Do you know of any women that like to do this sort of thing?

Just stuff

This last weekend I went for a hike. I was eager to try out some new crampons out on the trail. I've been trying to stay active this winter. Exercising like a normal person at a gym or jogging is not my deal. I need to feel like I am on some adventure; this is my motivator. Anyway, the snowy trails get packed down and then ice over, making it hard to hike safely without using poles or any type of crampon (strap-on spikes for your feet). Full-on crampons are overkill; it's not like I'm trekking over a glacier and scaling walls of ice. So I ordered some medium-duty crampons and received them last week.

The canyon that I hiked up this weekend had more use on its south side. I was not interested in bumping into people, so I went up the north side. At one time, this canyon had a wagon trail up it that miners built to get up to their claim. Ranchers used this way as well to get up to the flats above for grazing. In 1930, overgrazing of the hills and flats above this mining operation led to a small disaster. After a hard rain storm during the spring runoff, and instability from the overgrazing, a flood washed out much of the mine, mill, and road that was located up the canyon. My intentions for choosing this route on the north side of the canyon was to retrace what I could of this wagon trail.

The trail up to the highest Bonneville shoreline was sandy and steep. Approaching the mountain, the trail became overgrown with scrub oak and maples, but I could make out that a wider than normal path existed there at one time. It was at the start of this higher trail that I picked up on moose tracks and scat. This trail took me up into a bottle neck between two cliffs and dropped in just above a small waterfall. It was here that I lost all trace of the wagon trail, but picked up some cougar tracks; I followed.

The surrounding cliffs are prime area for predators to get a good vantage of what is coming up or down this canyon. During warm months, the flats are host to big animals, such as deer and moose, and of course, beaver, which have made more than several dams up there. Birds of prey, bobcats, and mountain lions have prime real estate in this bottle neck, essentially being able to keep tabs on what food is coming through and then pounce on them. Coyotes mostly hang out below on the benches.

I have never had such a hot spot for wildlife this low in my county than in this canyon and on the side I went up. (The south side trail is more developed and popular, but follows the bench and then switch backs ascend up and to the southeast over to another canyon). Most people don't want to deal with unimproved trails and bushwhacking. This is what I count on when I am picking a hike that will give me a more unique experience.

Anyway, I was mostly psyched hiking up, following the moose and cougar tracks. But then I had to make the descent; something about turning my back to the mountain made my hair stand up on end. This feeling of having cat eyes on me was a bit too much. I was at a point where I really needed snow shoes. The snow pack was up to my thighs, and if I had to stand my ground it would be very hard not to appear vulnerable. So I picked up a tree branch and swung it around my head, beat it on tree trunks/rocks, anything to make me look big and threatening. If anybody was able to hear me, they would have been treated to my "outdoor voice" version of self analysis. It's always the same on these more isolated adventures: I'm all brave and eager on the way up, and then paranoid and twitchy heading back.

I made my way down with the setting sun. It was quite a sabbath for me; one where I didn't have any judgment or expectations from people, but God and nature deciding whether to grace me with beauty and grant safe passage. I probably should have taken somebody with me, but I figure my only sin is in not having taken any pictures.

The Hog's Back

I keep finding my life drawn towards your mysteries. The fascination of dreams lost in your deep places and wood. Man clung to your sides and rode your spine, trying to break you and extract an immortality that only fortune can provide. Denuded and gored, you shook them off with floods and fires. You kept the secret and held tight the riches that were never promised, rather, assumed. I dream of those that came before and tried their best. I wonder what I might find, besides others' attempts. Will I be given a fair turn? Or will I be shaken off prematurely and sent down without my name? Despite this, I'll wander in deeper with disregard to my pride. Some dreams live where nothing is certain and most is hidden. In that reality I'll build my shelter.

Passion vs. Obssesion

Passion is something that you freely participate in; whereas, obsession is something that you can't help.

Passion: Doing something you love.

Obsession: Doing something because you feel that if you don't, something bad will happen or be felt as a result.

Let's examine obsession.....

Crazy person: (Wipes ass) Nope, still seeing brown. Better keep wiping until I see blood!

Now for passion....

Well adjusted person: (Wipes ass) Interesting...The color is lighter than expected. I can detect notes of citrus and hazelnuts. Now to test consistency!

I'm glad that I could clear this up for you all.

Community (on a cellular level--and no, this has nothing to do my health)

("Bob" the cell) "Hey guys, what's up?"

(The rest of the cells) "Bob, don't kill yourself."

(Bob): "So, I'm kind of out of things to do....um, I'm going to kill myself, if that's okay?"

(The rest of the cells) "Bob, we need you to not do that."

Bob the cell goes away for awhile, floats around bumping into shit a fair amount and then comes back to the rest of the gang.

(Bob) "Hey everybody, I just got back. I'm pretty tired now. I'm going over to brain and off myself there, if that's okay?"

(The rest of the cells) "Bob, don't kill yourself. We need you to something for us first. We heard of rumors that Jerry was mutating over in the corner of the colon. He's quite charming and might have a following now. We want you to go and deal with it."

(Bob) "B-But, I like Jerry."

(The rest of the cells) "We know and feel that, based on your relationship of trust, you are the cell that can get close enough to him and get the job done. Plus, you did such a great job with the flu earlier this year; we thought of you."

(Bob) "You know that I'm a joiner. This is totally not going to work."

(The rest of the cells) "It's what we all want, Bob; just do it already."

Bob travels to the dark recesses of the colon and finds his ol' chum Jerry, only Jerry is a bit different now and is keeping some bad company.

(Jerry) "Well, look what the crap dragged in...Bob!"

(Bob) "Hey Jerry. You're still hanging 'round here, huh?"

(Jerry) "Yeah, you know me. I can't really do much else. I'm kinda stuck here with the twenty-year-old macaroni. You?"

(Bob) "Oh, just cellin'. Say, things look a bit different around here. Who are your new friends?"

(Jerry) "Same gang, Bob. We all felt that the scene was a bit old and wanted a change. And you know what's funny? Ever since we changed, we don't need everyone telling us to not kill ourselves. In fact, we want more cells like us. This is fun!"

(Bob) "Sounds great, but who's working the colon right now?"

(Jerry) "Who cares? Who??"

(Bob) "Well, we care bob and me and the rest of the cell community request that you kill yourself. Isn't that great?"

(Jerry) "Bob, fuck you!"

Bob, feeling like a total failure, went back to report what he found to the rest of the cells. The rest of the cells continued to deny his requests to commit suicide. He was given light duty assignments because they all thought he was weird. Later on, Bob finally got the order to die and so did every other cell. The End.


Author's note: C#

Never leave your child alone with a party clown

I think the title is all this post needs. Happy Hanukkah!

Oldest Dirty Bastard

In order to hold the title of "Oldest Dirty Bastard" you must use food stuffs as your main source of innuendo. Anyone for "instant mash" or receiving a "gift basket" (just add banana)?But even with success in mashing potatoes and inserting bananas into the fruit basket equation, the Oldest Dirty Bastard would occasionally suffer "writer's block".Of course, there is one simple cure for writer's block and cold frankfurters, which involves much repetitious pleading, again, referencing food stuffs found in 1930s era pantries.After all remedies have been applied, the requisite compliments and flattery are employed to ensure continued therapy and possibly a large breakfast of biscuits, sausages, fruits, and figgy pudding (well, I'd want figgy pudding afterwards).

Giving thanks for good health

I had an examination with my oncologist today. My health is good. I am really happy about this. My oncologist has been there for me over the past while like no other person. To be honest, not only did she save my life, she gave me a different life. I have been able to talk to her about things that I'd not been able to with anyone who was in an "official" position to help me, including spiritual. She is a true healer with no intent to judge.

Anyway, she is moving on to another hospital. Today was the last checkup I had with her. We talked about the past four years and how she was only two years out of her residency when she handled my diagnosis and treatment plan. We talked about my rough journey of overcoming cancer, the loss of my sister to alcohol, and the loss of my mother to cancer (whom she got to know well during my chemotherapy treatments), all while we knew each other. We hugged and said our farewells. I also told her how grateful I was for all that she had done for me.

I don't know that I'm ready to break in another doctor. It will not be the same, but I am okay. My life may not be perfect, but the deep wounds that I've carried in my life are not so bad anymore. To have been treated by a true healer is a blessing. Doc, I give you thanks from the best part of me. I will try to make the life you gave me worthy of the effort you put into saving it.

Scrape

The process of me getting up in the morning is similar to that of one ridding their shoes of undesirable matter. Despite the hard work of the people I find that my country is not any better than it used to be. I don't quit getting up in the morning to face the day, despite the feeling that things aren't improving. I hope this isn't what being an American means, nowadays. I'm looking forward to what the coming "Occupy Congress" movement will do. The US needs more effective management. Hopefully, the public will not give up in voicing this demand.

I never once thought that Wall Street would have given two shits about any of the occupy movements, so long as they could conduct their business. They are about the money only. This is their job. Why was this a surprise? Congress, on the other hand, are public servants, and the only thing the public is getting served is a confused arrangement of shit.

I have no overwhelming desire to be rich. Hell, it would be nice, but I'm not motivated in that regard. I would, however, like to feel some of that hope that I once heard about a few years back. Having the "right" ideals means nothing if you lack the ability or resolve to see them through. Why would I order the best pizza in the world if it wouldn't get delivered? Hell, I can say lots of fun stuff to people and get them all excited too! Whatever gets me the job. I'm tired of leaders either being insane or some golden retriever stuffed into a suit.

It is the media and the primaries that have spawned this ridiculous campaigning that we enjoy today. You tell me who looks like a normal human being, or a competent leader of a superpower? We have no clue how to get out of this mess, we really don't.

SUPER POSITIVE EBAY FEEDBACK ENDING!!! A++++++!!!!!!!

The absence of effective State, and, especially, national, restraint upon unfair money-getting has tended to create a small class of enormously wealthy and economically powerful men, whose chief object is to hold and increase their power. The prime need to is to change the conditions which enable these men to accumulate power which it is not for the general welfare that they should hold or exercise. We grudge no man a fortune which represents his own power and sagacity, when exercised with entire regard to the welfare of his fellows. Again, comrades over there, take the lesson from your own experience. Not only did you not grudge, but you gloried in the promotion of the great generals who gained their promotion by leading their army to victory. So it is with us. We grudge no man a fortune in civil life if it is honorably obtained and well used. It is not even enough that it should have been gained without doing damage to the community. We should permit it to be gained only so long as the gaining represents benefit to the community.

The fundamental thing to do for every man is to give him a chance to reach a place in which he will make the greatest possible contribution to the public welfare. Understand what I say there. Give him a chance, not push him up if he will not be pushed. Help any man who stumbles; if he lies down, it is a poor job to try to carry him; but if he is a worthy man, try your best to see that he gets a chance to show the worth that is in him. ~President Theodore Roosevelt

Confession

I am not a Vietnamese prostitute. I am sorry that I let this charade go on for so long. In other snooze, I have written a children's book on the art of taxidermy. In other, other snooze, I lied about writing a children's book on the art of taxidermy. I am so sorry that I let this charade go on for one entire sentence. I blame the Liberal media for the first and Fox News for the later.

Now that things are straightened out, I need to attend to more important matters. By the way, if I were really a Vietnamese prostitute, I would go by the name of Netflix.

The End!

Etheuorque (Now featuring a mustache!)

Click here to see an old post with a picture of me with horrible facial hair.

Who would like the challenge of defining my newly minted word? It's the title; I made it up. Yes, I'm silly and have no life, but help me anyway.

In other snooze, I did manage to sneak up to the hills on the weekend, during a break in the bad weather. I tried to excavate what I was talking about in the previous post and it wasn't even a "Geraldo" moment. What I thought was the entrance was a pocket, but through more digging found large slabs of rock collapsed on top of each other. I did find a bunch of ash, possibly from an old miner's campfire. So, I determined that it was foolish and way too dangerous for me, all by myself, to proceed. There is a tunnel back in the mountain some distance further, but it is beyond reasonable effort and risk to uncover. This is fine, however. This is just tunnel #1 of 4 in this camp--the one in the picture found here. I will have to post pics later. I'm hoping to at least have something interesting, besides dirt, to show.

Could this be my Geraldo moment?

I remember watching Geraldo Rivera excavating the "secret" vaults of Al Capone with great anticipation of him finding a cache of loot or human remains. In the end, all that was found was a couple of broken bottles. My "Geraldo" moment may come soon. I have found an intriguing old mine that I discovered from a misidentified photo on the Utah Historical Society website. I located the mine camp last weekend and the mine entrance has long since been covered over by erosion. There is very little indication of human activity in that area, due to its overgrowth and difficulty of access.

Anyway, I started prying around with a branch and found the earth coming out with ease--the opening starting to reveal itself. While this is not a good idea, I have got all excited with thoughts of finding some cool artifacts left behind. This is probably unlikely, but I intend to find out anyway just for the hell of it. So this weekend, it will be me + pickaxe vs. landslide. I might be able to talk one of my friends into coming along and bringing his gullible brother in law along to do the brunt of the work. The only problem with this is that if any real loot is found, then you have to split it up. Well, the solution to that is to bring a gun and kill them right after they hand me the goods. I will already have a ready-made crypt for them; now all I need is a giant stone to roll over the hole.

Wait, you guys do read every word I write in my posts, not just the first couple of sentences, right? Drat! Okay, forget the part where I murder two people and pretend I said that we gave our riches to the starving orphans instead. I'm probably just going to find a couple of old, broken bottles anyway.

Please tell me this is normal

So, with the deaths over the past two years of my sister and mother, I tend to expect someone else close to me to kick the bucket. It's not that there is a person in my family that I feel is near death at the moment, but I've gotten used to the idea that death has come closer to me. The reason I bring all of this up is that I have been looking at my dad and wondering when and how it's going to end for him. I wonder if it will be quick or drawn out. I also wonder if it will be me who finds him, how long he will have been dead before someone is to find him, what he'll look like, and if I find him, if I'll be ready. When he and I are around each other I can't help it; he tends to get stuck in these story-telling loops and all I can seem to think about is his mortality. I should be listening to him and taking down all I can of his life.

So, is this abnormal of me to think about? Images of my mother's last moments flash in my head now and again. While I have long accepted her death, those difficult images of her struggle and death remain. Even though I handled her last moments as best as I could, I still don't want to ever go through that experience again. But since my brother and I are the ones taking care of my dad, it is highly probable that it will either be one of us to handle his death and my job to handle the funeral and affairs of my father's estate. I am not ready for this at the moment, but when would I ever be? What a sad apprenticeship I've had helping with the last two family members' deaths. It has been an honor, but not something that I look forward to doing again.

I hope I get a break in this department and more joy all around.