Video of the Day – Kayaking Down a Drainage Ditch

Posted on October 4, 2013 by waterhigh

Water High???

Disclaimer:
I wouldn’t recommend doing this without a helmet. In fact, I wouldn’t recommend doing this at all.

ren3gade

Looks like fun.

I don’t think paddles are meant to be used on rock.

View original post

Spectacular Blaze

Posted on October 4, 2013 by waterhigh

A young Amish boy on his way to work

A young Amish boy on his way to work at 4:30am looking at the light show on Fuller Road in Easton, Maine. The image was captured by 61-year-old photographer Paul Cyr

I Know You’re Out There Somewhere, Somewhere . . .

Posted on October 3, 2013 by waterhigh

Now playing on a continuous loop in my head—

The Moody Blues

Oh, yes, I know you’re out there somewhere, somewhere, somewhere,

Oh, yes, I know I’ll find you somehow . . . .

They’re playing in Peoria next Monday. Yay!

The Best of The Moody Blues (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Next up:

Once upon a time

In my wildest dreams . . . .

Forrest Fenn’s Treasure Chest

The Moody Blues Launch Fall Tour (myq105.cbslocal.com)
‘The Thrill of the Chase’: Why Forrest Fenn sparked a treasure hunt for $3-million worth of gold and artifacts (news.nationalpost.com)

Let’s call this non-partisan, please

Posted on October 2, 2013 by waterhigh

I hope this link works—

Honoring the guardians:

Our local heroes (Quad Cities) are scheduled for tomorrow!

Spc. James Phillips, 249th Eng Battalion (Prime Power), assists World War II veteran Vernon Bolstad as he arrives at Reagan National Airpor from Minnesota as part of the Honor Flight Network to see the National World War II Memorial. http://www.army.mil/armylife/veterans/ (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Honor Flight Veterans Refuse To Take No For An Answer (youviewed.com)
America… Where we barricade off our heritage (xbradtc.com)

Book Signings & Fireside Chats (Updated)

Posted on September 27, 2013 by waterhigh

Twelve hundred miles, twelve hundred miles, ….

It’s too far too walk. Or drive. Or fly. Just to get my new TFTW book signed. I can’t fault the shipper. They were expedient. Prompt. Speedy. Only the book flew out of there before Mr. Fenn could sign it.

I’m jealous of you New Mexicans, Coloradans, Arizonans, and others who live within a couple hundred miles of Santa Fe. Don’t it make my brown eyes green.

Forrest Fenn. Douglas Preston. Michael McGarrity. Details for you lucky ones who can mark October 22nd on your calendars —

http://www.collectedworksbookstore.com/event/forrest-fenn-too-far-walk

And now, the blues. Folk music, rather. I’m also going to have to forego the chance to have a glass of wine with Forrest and to hear Bob Haworth of The Brothers Four and The Kingston Trio, (am I old enough to remember? almost, maybe) in front of a cozy fireplace in the lounge at the Inn and Spa at Loretto!

The Inn and Spa at Loretto (Photo credit: Jim Nix / Nomadic Pursuits)

Details: Monday September 30th from 6 to 9. See Stephanie’s blog Chase Chat for the invitation to bloggers.

Also, Tuesday, October 1st from 5-7 (you’ll need to RSVP). Visit Dal’s blog, Thrill of the Chase, for the actual invitation from Forrest Fenn/Charmay.

My RSVP —- Regrets.

Where will I be? Twelve hundred miles NorthEast by East (–ish). Flyover country. The Midwest. Flat lands.

I plan to start a campfire. (That would be about 6 or 7 pm CST. Hmm. Still daylight savings time? Whatever.) I’ll crack open a bottle of wine. Put on some folk music. Watch the blaze.

Warm waters blazing a trail down my cheeks….maybe.

My feet are wet from thinking this thing over. . . [See/hear Blue Umbrella lyrics by John Prine.]

Any Midwesterners so inclined may join me in spirit. Can you play guitar?

Five hundred miles, five hundred miles, oh Lord, I’m five hundred miles away from home.

Trove Of Mich. Folk Music Unearthed In Archive (npr.org)
Discovering John Prine: A Memoir of My Muse (awaywithwordsblog.com)
The man who buried his treasure in a poem (telegraph.co.uk)

A very very very bad frog joke

Posted on September 26, 2013 by waterhigh

A Australian Green Tree Frog (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For grins and giggles:

A very very very bad frog joke.

(I realize that this may be lost on you millennials… just pass on by.)

Jumpin’ Jack Flash! Mick Jagger to be a great-grandad? (q13fox.com)
Sticking under Wet Conditions: The Remarkable Attachment Abilities of the Torrent Frog, Staurois guttatus (plosone.org)
In pictures: Colourful poison arrow frogs and other rainforest rockstars invade Museum of Nature (metronews.ca)
Tiny Frog Swallows Sound (guardianlv.com)

Perspective

Posted on September 23, 2013 by waterhigh

The prior blog referenced Forrest Fenn’s rescue in the jungle of that “conflict overseas”. *** He was shot down twice during his service.

To gain some of Fenn’s perspective on those experiences, see his writings on his blog @ Old Santa Fe Trading Co.com, and in his book The Thrill of the Chase. Maybe there will be more in his latest book, Too Far To Walk, which is being released this week.

*** “the conflict overseas” from Sam Stone by John Prine, one of the great singer/songwriters.

Fair & Square (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I had the opportunity to see Prine at Chicago’s Earl of Old Town ( & other folk legends—Steve Goodman, Bonnie Koloc) back in the day, and also last week when he “played Peoria”.

Forty years on, Prine’s lyrics still resonate. For example, Paradise:

Chorus:

And daddy won’t you take me back to Muhlenberg County
Down by the Green River where Paradise lay
Well, I’m sorry my son, but you’re too late in asking
Mister Peabody’s coal train has hauled it away

Bittersweet

Posted on September 19, 2013 by waterhigh

A U.S. Air Force Sikorsky HH-53C Super Jolly Green Giant helicopter being refueled over Vietnam. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This was a footnote on the previous post, but I think it deserves more attention——-Forrest Fenn was the rescuee.

‘Jolly Green Giant’ pilot in Vietnam War’s 1,500th airman rescue dies at 90 (stripes.com)

“Hear Me All . . . ” Forrest Fenn

Posted on September 19, 2013 by waterhigh

Somewhere south of Duluth

English: John Muir (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“There is a musical idea in every form. See, hear, how sharp, loud, and clear-ringing are the tones of the sky-piercing peaks and spires; and how deep and smooth and massive those of the swelling domes and round-backed ridge-waves; and how quickly the multitude of small features in a landscape suggest hurrying trills and ripples and waves of melody. We not only see the forms and colors of the mountains, but hear them. Plants and animals also seem to be music both in form and color. Everything breaks forth into form, color, song, and fragrance – an eternal chorus of praise going up from every garden and grove, a wide range of harmonies leading into the inner harmonies that are eternal.”

Signature of John Muir (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Could You Hear Color? (guardianlv.com)
John Muir’s first steps into nature were in Wisconsin (jsonline.com)
John Muir’s Giant Sequoia to Be Cloned (sierraclub.typepad.com)
The man who buried his treasure in a poem (telegraph.co.uk)
‘Jolly Green Giant’ pilot in Vietnam War’s 1,500th airman rescue dies at 90 (stripes.com)

How A 3200-Mile Loop Became a 4000-Mile Crazy 8 (The End)

Posted on September 16, 2013 by waterhigh

When I wished Forrest Fenn a Happy Birthday, I mentioned I was in Cody. He asked about my search and by Saturday, when I was halfway up/down the Gallatin, he invited to meet him for a cup of coffee. Wow, I thought.

Now, I’d told my husband I’d be home by Friday, unless I found the chest and needed to swing by Santa Fe to return a bracelet to Mr.Fenn. Hmm.

I could do both if I knocked off a visit to a hot springs and a great restaurant I had reservations at. Hmm.

I’d also brought my book hoping to get it signed if the opportunity presented itself. Hmm.

“Life is short and getting shorter” said Mr. Fenn. Hmm.

Mr. W’s phone was off on Sunday. By the time I got ahold of him, I’d already flown by Billings, Casper, Laramie, and was maybe nearing Denver.

“Cool,” he said. I told him he was invited, too, but he’s still busy supporting my hobbies.

Serendipity. A southern suburb with a gas station, a car wash, and across the street, a great steak salad for a late lunch. I didn’t recognize anything of the Denver I knew in the mid-80’s.

Back on the road, it was dark when I passed through the mountains north and east of Santa Fe. I had reservations on the west side and thought I’d have no trouble finding the Fenn estate the next morning.

Wrong. I plugged in the address but it wanted to send me about 12 miles back east of town. Time was getting short, so I stopped at a place I was sure could help: The Collected Works Bookstore.

Fortunately, the guy at the desk knew it was only a couple miles away, and gave me a start in the right direction. Museum Hill would be ‘too far’. That’s where I turned around, but at least I’d passed the correct address.

(Was anyone else a bit claustrophobic with the narrow streets, adobe walls, and one way streets in old Santa Fe, or is it just that I’m used to seeing horizons?)

I turned in the drive and pushed a button. The gate opened and I pulled forward. I grabbed my book and camera, and hoped the big dog was friendly.

Yes, those are Post-Its in my book.

Mr. Fenn met me at the door, and I was escorted into the big room, familiar because I’d seen Dal’s pictures: the wooden Indian by the fireplace, the ancient books on the shelves, the buffalo skull. Bells. Baskets. Beautiful things.

He was curious about my search; I was curious about everything. The time flew. Then, I took a couple pictures, he signed my book, and a “homely girl” got a kiss. No. How does it go? I mean, smile. (Is it too late for braces?)

I headed home with my treasures. Amarillo, Tulsa, St. Louis, Bloomington…..

Friday evening, I was greeted with a vase full of roses, happy chickens, and fresh peaches on the tree. More treasures. They don’t all fit in a chest.

Life is good.

Holy Pompeii Pillars, Batman!

Posted on September 14, 2013 by waterhigh

So what does it mean if the night after I drove through Yellowstone National Park I had a nightmare and woke up in a one-horse town frantically searching for the dust mask I had packed (somewhere) because the volcano had blown and the ash-laden air was getting thicker and thicker?!?

Can you say “Terremoto“?

{I’m still searching for Forrest Fenn’s hidden treasure chest BTW.}

Signature of William Clark, on 1806-07-25 at todays Pompeys Pillar National Monument, Montana (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

C-SPAN crew spends week filming Billings (missoulian.com)
The tower of Mercury at Pompeii (emilianotufano.wordpress.com)
Stunning Batman Animatic Short – A GOTHAM FAIRYTALE (geektyrant.com)

West Yellowstone & Up the Gallatin (Part IV)

Posted on September 12, 2013 by waterhigh

In the morning, the first item on my agenda was to find Dal’s cache in the woods. His GPS coordinates were of no use to me, but fortunately his instructions were clear, and if precisely followed would lead me to the stash with confidence. It also didn’t hurt that I’d seen the photos on his blog.

I’d brought a set of ‘important bear info’ playing cards to leave in the tub. To make room, I had to choose between a black thing and electric tape. I took the tape. Good to go.

The rest of the morning was spent driving down the Madison and checking out the earthquake damage. I’d been there the day it happened and again when I was ten. (See Terremoto entry.)

The Hebgen Lake Dam and fishing access was closed for construction/repairs.

Possibility of water high?!

Surprising how the rocky scars still look fresh. In fact, across from the Earthquake Visitor’s Center (also CLOSED), I saw an omega blaze and looked quickly down.

OMG! The Omega?

Okay, between me and the hidden treasure chest was a rushing river, boulders, and a steep ravine. Hmm. I’ll come up from below, I thought. I drove down to where the valley opened up. A longer hike than I’d be doing alone in the heat. Maybe not ever.

I turned around and drove back up the ‘hill’. Now, there were 2 empty cars parked along the road. For a moment I panicked and thought they were just ahead of me on the chase. I parked and started hiking down the slippery slope across from my blaze. And then I saw them.

It turned out, they were ‘just’ fishing.

I had some time to think there on the slide. The more I gazed across the river, the more I realized that spot was just not possible to reach safely. Not for a child, a person of eighty, or even one approaching 60. Anyone in between, go for it. You have my blessing. Go in peace.

Instead of heading north, I went back into West Yellowstone for bear spray, just in case I got brave enough to get in the wood. And, just to remind myself of the vertical factor this winter while I’m poring over maps, I picked up a 3-D molded plastic version map of the area. I think we still have a Denver/Rockies one from 28 years ago.

I inquired of the volunteers at tourist info as to where Watkins Creek was. In addition to printing me a map, they mentioned a $6k per week Firehole. I started out for it, but the tarred road was scant.

I made it a bit past the nice boat launch/campground before I was jarred into turning around. Clearly the movie stars they’d mentioned must fly in.

I only had 6.7 more miles of gravelly washboard to go. If Mr. W gets that pickup, we’ll try it next year. Plus, that will give me an extra year to get into shape to reach those aptly (?) named lakes above there. *** Is there an air ambulance available for the over-confident? she wonders.

After lunch, I headed up Highway 191, the Gallatin River valley, to the Soldier’s Chapel. I’d recently read The Bloody Bozeman, and have to agree with the person who mentioned that Bozeman ought to be named Story. Bozeman was rather reckless with other people’s lives.

I headed south to where I’d made a reservation for the night. A welcome thunderstorm passed through that night and drenched the area. Helpful to those battling a fire or two.

I planned to attend the chapel service Sunday morning, and then, if I was really brave, I just might have (probably not), ridden the ski lift/tram up Lone Mountain before heading to parts north.

But, there was an email waiting for me. From Forrest Fenn.

*** If I had kept up with Dal’s blog the day I was packing, I would have realized that a couple of fearless, and healthy, searchers had made the trek up the mountain to not just Lower Coffin Lake, but the Upper one as well. So, maybe we don’t need that pick-up truck. . . .