Ashrunner's Mind

A Blast From the Past

2009-05-09T03:00:00.000-07:00

About eight years ago, I did an internet search for World War I aircraft models. While going through the hits, I came across a company called Fiddlers Green. After ordering their Aircraft CD, I became hooked on cardstock models of aircraft.

The Fiddlers Green models come on PDF files and are easy to build. Plus, if you make a mistake, you simply reprint and rebuild.

After completing a number of models, I decided I would try my hand at designing a card model.

But what should I design?

I pondered that question for several days until one night, I tuned into one of my favorite cartoon shows...The Flintstones. But what object from the show should I make my first design attempt?

I settled on Fred Flintstone's car.

After breaking out my favorite CAD program (TurboCAD), I began drawing. I had downloaded screen captures of the car from the net and listed all the parts on it. After that, I free-hand drew the parts to get an idea of what each should look like as a flat object, then I transfered the piece to the CAD program.

It took a couple of weeks, but I finally finished the first version of the car and sent it off to a friend to test build. He found several problems which were easy to correct and in the end, the first of the World Famous Flintstone Models was born.

Since then, I have added Barney's car and a Police scooter to the collection, along with the limousine driven by the Gruesomes. The latest model released has been the drive-in theater seen in the opening and closing segments of the show.

I have plans for future Stone-age era releases, such as the car hop restaurant and other vehicles, but for now, these are the only ones available. If you'd like to start your own collection of World Famous Flintstone Models, they are available at the links below.

Fred's Car, Barney's Car and Police Scooter are included in one file located here.

The Gruesome's Limousine is located here.

The Drive-in Theater (with a number of different possible movies) is located here.

Keep watching this blog for more Stone-age card models as they are released.

And Now You Know My Story

2009-03-01T22:45:00.000-08:00

Sunday morning I heard a news item which saddened me.

I didn't know Paul Harvey, but when I heard he had died, I reflected back to another time.

I thought back to December 1971. I was on a temporary assignment to Galena Air Station, Alaska. Now closed, the base was located next to the native Alaskan village of the same name on the north side of the Yukon River. At the time, the station housed two alert aircraft, ready to respond to any intrusion into the airspace of the Northern Frontier.

Myself and three other fuels troops from Elmendorf AFB, near Anchorage, Alaska, arrived at Galena for a three month assignment in early October. Our main job was to support the alert aircraft. We also gassed up transient aircraft and motor vehicles. It wasn't hard work, but when the temperatures of the interior Alaska area dropped to well below zero, it made the desire to do the work a lot harder. I spent many a cold hours standing in the weather passing gas.

However, In early December, the person doing the fuels accounting for the office, went on a 30-day leave. Someone had to take his place and the lieutenant in charge of the office, gave that job to me. I quickly learned what I needed to know and when the time came, I settled into the job.

Things were going fine for me at that time. In the mornings, I would walk to work in the cold (there were several days in a row when the thermometer outside the door of the fuels office read -65 or more...yes, that is 65 degrees below zero) and once inside, warm my hands over the oil stove providing heat for the building. I'd then pour myself a cup of coffee, go to my desk and listen to Paul Harvey present the news in only the way he could.

I hadn't been working at my new job much more than a week, when I walked into our office, warmed my hands, got my cup of coffee, settled into my office chair and glanced at the paperwork in front of me as the voice of Paul Harvey came over the radio on the Armed Forces Radio and Television Service. As he presented his news, I was getting ready to dive into my work when I heard something which caused me to spit coffee across my desk and stare at the radio in disbelief.

I don't remember the exact words he used, but about midway through that day's presentation, Paul Harvey began his next news item with: "Galena, Alaska...Officials at the Bureau of Indian Affairs say the U.S. Air Force spilled more than 15,000 gallons of aviation fuel in the Yukon, killing fish up and down the river. " He continued with more information about the spill, including the date it happened and then went on to other items. By this time, I was in shock.

Everyone in the office turned and looked at me with a puzzled look on their face. The lieutenant looked up from his desk, with a jaw which had dropped almost to the floor. And then my phone rang.

I knew immediately who was calling...and I didn't want to answer the phone. Glancing skyward, I reached for the phone knowing I had nothing to do with the loss of fuel, but also knowing I would be the one catching hell for what Paul Harvey said.

"Fuels...Sergeant Sobkoviak," I said.

"Are you the one who took over for the guy on leave?" came an unfamiliar voice from the other end.

"Yes, I am."

"Were you listening to Paul Harvey this morning?"

"Yes, I was."

"Then why is this the first we are hearing of this massive fuel spill?"

I had no idea what to say to the person on the phone. I knew he was assigned to our headquarters at Elmendorf and he read the daily reports we sent down to him. I also knew he knew as much about our fuel situation as I did, maybe more, considering I had just started at the job. I looked over the lieutenant for help, and he grabbed the phone on his desk.

After a few minutes of talking, he said, "We'll have the report ready as soon as possible and call you back with our findings." He hung up, shook his head and told me some background on the Paul Harvey report. He told me how during aviation fuel (AVGAS) off-loading from the supply barge, a passing vehicle hit the pipeline system and caused a leak. Fuel did fall into the Yukon River, but the amount was determined to be 15 gallons or less.

He then asked me to go stick the AVGAS tanks, so another report could be filed. Sticking the tank meant measuring the depth of fuel. With that measurement and the temperture of the fuel, a chart could be cross referenced, and the amount of fuel in the tank could be determined.

When I completed my calculations, I found that close to 150 gallons of AVGAS was missing...not the 15 gallons as originally thought. I passed this information on to the lieutenant who wasn't happy. He had been in charge of the office when the accident occurred and now had to tell headquarters that his original report was in error. But before he would do that, he told me to double check my figures. This meant returning to the AVGAS tanks, getting another depth measurement and temperature reading, and redoing my calculations.

So off I went, back to the AVGAS storage area.

When I arrived at the tanks, I decided I would check to see if there was any water in the tank. To do this, a person needed to open a drain valve at the bottom of the tank, let about a pint of fuel to flow into a jar, and then visually check the amount of water in the bottom of the jar. If there was any water, another procedure would done to determine how deep the water was in the tank.

I grabbed a jar out of the truck I drove to the storage area, and began removing the three feet of snow covering the area I believed the drain valve to be. After moving about a foot of snow, I was puzzled to see snow stained in the color purple. I knew the AVGAS we had in the tank was dyed purple for visual verification of the type of fuel and I instantly knew there was a leak at the drain valve.

After removing all the snow from around the drain valve, I realized where the extra 135 gallons or so of aviation fuel was...it was in the bottom of the dike surrounding the tank. I checked the valve and noticed a steady drip of liquid coming from around the area where the valve was attached to the tank. After doing what I could to stem the flow of fuel, I redid my measurements and returned to the fuels office. Once inside, I told the lieutenant what I found out and put in a work order for maintenance to fix the leak.

When I completed my new calculation, I came up with the same number as before...150 gallons missing. Reporting this the LT, I speculated that additional missing fuel is inside the dike. Since the dike was sealed to prevent any leaked fuel from contaminating the environment, it was unlikely any more fuel was leaking into the Yukon. However, the river was frozen over and there wasn't any way to tell for sure.

Resigned to the fact that the Air Force at Galena AS may have screwed up, the lieutenant called headquarters back and relayed the news. After talking to his counterpart, he told me to get on the line and I gave my counterpart a blow-by-blow description of everything I had found out since he called me that morning. When I finished, he said, "This isn't over. We have everyone from state officials to people in Washington calling about this. File your report and get it in the next outbound mail." He then hung up.

I then turned to the lieutenant and said, "Of all people...Paul Harvey."

He let out a long sigh, cracked a smile, stood up and proclaimed, "Let's get something to eat, then hit the club before we do the report."

I grabbed my hat and parka and said, "You're buying."

Even after his report on Galena Air Station, I continued to listen to Paul Harvey when I could. I learned things I never would have known from his "Now You Know the Rest of the Story" segments, although I have probably forgotten everything I heard. But as before the incident above, I enjoyed listening to him.

He has passed on now, but I will still think fondly of him and am saddened by his loss...even if he did get me in trouble with my superiors back in December, 1971.

And now you know my story.

Superbowl and Things

2009-01-28T23:29:00.000-08:00

This weekend is Superbowl XLIII (43 for those trying to figure it out). But I already had my Superbowl...and guess what?

I won it!

Yes, my fantasy football league superbowl game was played almost a month ago, and I was victorious. The game started out slow, and at halftime, I was far behind. But in the second half, Drew Brees and Donald Driver both put up numbers which brought me back into the game. And then, with minutes to go, the score was tied. But I had my field goal kicker still to play, and when the Sunday games were finished, I still had a two point lead, and the victory.

This was my fourth season as a fantasy football player. I'm proud of the win and even though I won the big game, I didn't get a ring, nor a big trophy. I did receive a book with photos of past winners, and my photo will be included as a champion of the "There Can Be Only One" Fantasy Football League.

My fantasy football victory isn't the only proud moment of my life. During my Air Force career, I accomplished many things I'm proud of. I antaganized Soviet soldiers in East Berlin, I flipped off the chancelor of East Berlin, I won awards for my journalism skills and I faced down Mother Nature.

But my greatest pride came at a place close to the top of the world.

I was stationed at Thule AB, Greenland at the time. The base is located somewhere between the North Pole and the Arctic Circle on the west side of the island. Although I started getting a bit of cabin fever near the end of my year there, I still enjoyed the assignment.

At the time, the Cold War was still going strong with the U.S. and the Soviet Union, the two big men on campus. In January 1983, events began to happen which, in the end, would prove to be my greatest accomplishment in my career.

In the Summer of 1982, the Soviet Union launched a satellite into orbit. I don't know the function of Kosmos 1402, but I do know it was carrying a small nuclear reactor. A couple of months after its boost into space, things started going wrong, and the satellite's orbit began to decay. When it appeared 1402 would definitely reenter the atmosphere, folks began wondering when and where. But it was too early to tell.

At Thule, life was going on as usual during the cold, dark Winter months.

Then one day, I was informed that a Swedish journalist who claimed to have visited Thule, had written an article about his trip. He wrote about the missiles and bombs and if I remember correctly, the submarines he saw at Thule AB. This very much puzzled myself and our Danish liaison officer, as none of the items the reporter mentioned seeing were positioned at or anywhere near the base.

A little background is needed here now. Thule AB was primarily a radar support base. The largest radar array (at that time) was situated several miles northeast of the base along the cliffs of a fiord. The job of the people at Thule was to provide support for that site, and several other out-lying radar units. My job was that of noncommissioned officer in charge of the Public Affairs Office. Among other duties, I met and escort visiting news media around the base. Since the base was on Danish soil (Greenland still belonged to Denmark at this time), we had a Status of Forces Agreement with the Danish government which spelled out what we could do and have on the base. To monitor what the U.S. Air Force was doing there, members of the Danish navy were assigned as liaison personnel. Their office was a couple of doors along the hall from my office.

Back to my story.

Not long after the article was published (I believe it was around mid January 1983), the liaison officer came to my office and asked if I had escorted a Swedish journalist around the base. I told him I hadn't, and since I had to have his approval, before I could approve the visit of any media organization, he knew the journalist had never been on the base. He then explained the reason for his question and told me he would provide me with a translation of the article when he got a copy of it.

Less than a week later, unrelated events began to combine. One was the article written about Thule AB. The other was the orbit of Kosmos 1402.

A couple of days after asking me about the article, the liaison officer was recalled to Denmark. I was told he had left in a rush by one of the other people in his office. It couldn't have been more than two days after Commander Johanssen's return to Denmark, when I received a call from him.

He informed me that he was testifying before the Danish Parliament regarding the article written by the Swedish journalist. Parliament was concerned because what was written about was a violation of the SOFA, something which could lead to dismissal of the agreement and loss of American rights to use the base. And that is just what the parliament was thinking at the time.

Cmdr. Johannsen gave me a brief rundown of what was going on and informed me things weren't looking good. He had told parliament that the article was a fabrication and parliament basically asked him to prove it. All he could do was state that the Americans were following the SOFA and only supporting the BMEWS radar site (BMEWS stood for Ballistic Missile Early Warning System). But the Danish Parliament was skeptical.

As proof of our good intentions, Cmdr. Johannsen was asked for something the Danish government was having difficulty obtaining.

Here is where Kosmos 1402 enters the picture. By this time - the end of January, everyone around the world knew the satellite was going to reenter Earth's atmosphere. But where, no one knew. The space tracking facility at NORAD, in Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado was closely watching the object, trying to predict its reentry, using orbital data from numerous radar sites around the world. However, other governments needing the data, were having a difficult time getting up-to-date number, as they had to go through the U.S. State Department to obtain the information. For the most part, this meant any data they received was close to 24 hour old. Old data meant inaccurate predictions. And this included the Danish government, who were especially concerned since the orbit of the satellite at that time brought it over the area of the North Sea and near Denmark.

So the Danish Parliament asked Cmdr. Johannsen, since he was the liaison officer at the base supporting the largest and most powerful radar system in the world, if he could get more accurate orbital elements. Orbital elements are numbers which when used with proper equations, will show where an object in space is, and what its current path will be, should the orbit remain unchanged.

Cmdr. Johannsen then called me. I don't know if he called anyone else before me, but he and I had worked together on a number of projects and we both had great respect for each other. When I got on the phone, he informed me of how bad things were looking and then told me about parliament's request for the better orbital elements. We talked a little bit about situation, then set a call back time. We both hoped I would have the requested information by that time.

After hanging up, I called the BMEWS office and inquired about the elements. I was informed they couldn't release the information without approval from NORAD. I then asked for verification that if I got the approval, they could provide me with what I needed. Even though I was making an official request, the officer I was talking to, was tight-lipped and wouldn't even verify if they could provide the data.

After discussing the situation with my boss, we decided the best course of action would be to wait for the Public Affairs Officer at NORAD to open, and call them. So an hour or so later, I placed a call to the NORAD PA office. I explained the situation to the lady who answered, and she put me through to the officer in charge of the office. Although they didn't have the information I needed, I was given the number to another office which could help me. So I asked to have my call forwarded and waited for someone to answer on the other end.

During this time, I could only hope my goal was soon within reach. When a gentleman answered on the other end of the line, I again explained the situation and asked him if he could help. He not only could give me the most current and up-to-date orbital numbers, he also gave me the civilian phone number to his office and informed me the Danish people tracking the satellite could call him anytime for updates.

After breathing a sigh of relief, and then verifying the numbers I had which were less than 20 minutes old at the time, I hung up and waited for Cmdr. Johannsen to call me back. An hour later, at the agreed time, my phone rang and I heard the rough, yet familiar voice of Cmdr. Johannsen on the other end.

I gave him the numbers I was given, and the phone number which could be called to obtain newer numbers. He thanked me and we hung up. I then went back to work on other projects.

A few days later, Cmdr. Johannsen walked into my office again. This time he wanted to thank me for what I did. He explained how the information I gave him was given to members of the Danish Parliament and a vote on the situation at Thule AB shortly thereafter, went in favor of the base. The situation was contained, thanks in part to my help. He then said something which brought a knot to my throat and almost a tear in my eye. He said, "You saved Thule base."

I smiled and said, "Anytime you need anything, just ask." He laughed and walked out of my office. I never spoke about the incident to anyone after that until about a month later. I received a call from someone in the State Department. This person wanted to know who it was who circumvented the State Department and provided the Danish government with data regarding Kosmos 1402. I informed him that I was that person.

He began to tell me how many state department regulations I had bypassed and before he could go too deep into his tirade, I told him he really needed to talk to my commander. I offered to transfer his call to the colonel's office, but instead, he stuttered a few things about protocol, I said, "Yes...thank you," and hung up. That was the last I ever spoke regarding Swedish journalists, Danish Parliament and Kosmos 1402.

That my friends, is and probably will be, my proudest moment. In case you are wondering, Kosmos 1402 burned in over the Atlantic Ocean on Feb, 7, 1983.

7 Things

2008-10-10T10:25:00.000-07:00

My dear friend, Misty of Misty's Musings tagged me for this. Normally, I don't participate in this sort of thing, but how can ya say no to someone named "Misty"?

Ok...the rules......

1. Link your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
4. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

I'm going to have to plead the fifth on part of the rules, as I have no one I can tag to further participation. So, since I have already accomplished Rule #1 (see above), I'll begin working on Rule #2 and see what happens.

Fact #1 -- I'm a REAL city boy. When I was knee-high to a grasshopper, my dad got a job in the Chicago area. I lived there until I was 18 when I joined the Air Force.

Fact #2 -- I have twice been to the North Pole. Once in the air and the other on the ice. By the way, there is no red and white striped barber style pole there. I looked and looked and couldn't find it. It must be on the South Pole.

Fact #3 -- I have a great sense of direction (as opposed to someone else I know). I can look at a map and not need it thereafter even if I'm driving 2,000 miles...which I have done many times.

Fact #4 -- In my teenage years, a friend of mine and I were instrumental in saving hundreds of lives in South America. My friend is a HAM...amateur radio operator...and one evening, we intercepted a general call for help. We copied down the information, contacted a local hospital and told them the story and lucky for us, the person who took the call was also a HAM. He then contacted the people in South America, made arrangements to have the needed medication sent there and my friend and I were featured on the front page of the Metro Section of the Chicago Tribune, the largest paper in the city at the time. I got the photo...my friend has the story.

Fact #5 -- I am also known as Ashrunner and for good reason. If you have read my previous posts, you know I have had up an up close and personal encounter with a volcanic eruption. But it wasn't my first. I also experienced the Mt. St. Helens eruption. But those aren't the only disasters I have experienced. Two major earthquakes also rattled my chains, one in The Philippines and one in Italy. Both didn't let up with the shaking and continued rolling minor tremors through the areas.

Fact #6 -- I have spent a lot of time with some rather famous people. One of them was Billy Joel. He was at Clark AB to put on a USO sponsored concert, but prior to the show, we gave him a tour of the base. I was his "unofficial" escort. We spent the day discussing world news regarding the up-coming Gulf War One. I have also spent time with Dorothy Hamil, the Olympic ice skater, the late Bob Hope and a number of others whose names escape me.

Fact #7 -- Ok...a weird one now. I can not drink a drink out of a glass which has ice cubes in it without a straw. I must have a straw. If I don't use a straw, I actually fear swallowing an ice cube and choking to death on it before it melts.

Well, there you have it...seven things about me no one cares about 8v)

As for the number 3 and 4 rules, since I don't have anyone I can tag to do this, I'll leave it to those of you who read this blog and decide they want to do it. Just follow the rules (as close as possible) listed at the top of this post.

Visitors from the East

2008-07-02T10:42:00.000-07:00

I spent most of last week in the company of my mother, her sister, my cousin and her husband. They came to Oregon from Illinois for a visit and to see the gorgeous beauty of this country.

For the most part, I acted as a tour guide for the group, and took them to local areas well worth seeing...and of course, I took along my camera.

It had been so long since I spent any time in the high country, that I actually felt like crying when I returned. There are two spots in central Oregon which are my favorite top two favorite spots in the state. The top spot on the list is the McKenzie Pass area. The pass, along the McKenzie Highway, is located between the North Sister and Mt. Washington in the area of Belnap Crater. The view there at the right time of the day, is absolutely spectacular.

Unfortunately, the area is still blocked by snow and the pass is closed until the end of July at the earliest. I'll get there again...I hope. And when I do, I'll once again be awed by what I see.

The second place on that list encompasses a large area of central Oregon and is known as Newberry National Volcanic Monument. I got to know this area before it became a national monument. Though not a lot has changed, it does cost more to get into the park and some places I could go before, I'm not allowed to go to now. Not that I would these days as my Davy Crockett days are long gone, but it would be nice to go there if I could.

There are so many volcanic features throughout the caldera, that a person could spend a lifetime inside the volcano studying it all. Among other sights, are the Big Obsidian Flow, Central Pumice Cone, lava flows, smaller obsidian flows, pumice flats, two lakes formed by the collapsed summit, a beautiful waterfall and Paulina Peak.

The peak is the highest point at the monument at 7,989 feet. It can be driven to along a gravel road cut into the flanks of the mountain. The drive itself is interesting, as in spots, you're driving the edge of a three hundred foot drop to oblivion. But the views from the roadway are gorgeous and well worth the time. One of my most memorable trips up to Paulina Peak occurred in 1992 when I took a friend of mine up there. We were in an old Ford pickup and the road was extremely wash-boarded at the time. Since the drop offs were on the passenger side, my friend from St. Louis wasn't accustomed to looking out his window and seeing nothing at road level. He certainly was glad when we finally made it to the top.

Once at the top of Paulina Peak, the views are spectacular. On clear days (few and far between these days in the summer wildfire season), a person can easily see into the states of Washington and California. To the north, Washington's Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Adams are easily seen. Further north, Mt. Rainier can be made out on the horizon. To the south, Crater Lake in Oregon and Mt. Shasta in California grace the distance landscape. I have seen what I believe is Lassen Peak, a volcano which erupted in California in 1915.

Still looking south but moving more to the east, a person can easily make out Fort Rock and Hole-in-the-Ground. In the distance, the flats of the Great Basin show and further south, the fault block system of the Hart Mountains.

There is much more to see in the High Desert area of central Oregon. And I hope to someday be able to visit the areas I have been before, along with those I haven't seen. In the meantime, I'll continue to do what I can to see what I can and when I do, I'll have my camera and record it for all to see.

I have posted some of the photos I took from Paulina Peak during my recent visit at my Flickr site. Although it was a nice day, my views were limited due to smoke from the California fires.

I do hope you enjoy my photos and if you decide to visit the central Oregon area, I do hope you enjoy your visit. But please...just visit...don't plan to stay 8v)

What's in a Word?

2008-06-18T23:13:00.000-07:00

A few minutes ago, the Top Chef reunion concluded and it reminded me of something from my past. Yes, I watched Top Chef and my favorite chef - Antonia - didn't win. I can't cook worth a squat, but I enjoy eating food and watching some really cool dishes cook is interesting.

Anyway, what happened to trigger a memory was all the dead air during the show. When the chefs were being interviewed, or while they were cooking away, four-letters words flowed from their mouths. I spent 20 plus years in the military and four-letters are just words to me. One of my favorite cartoons is a Doonesbury strip. It was during the build-up phase to the first Gulf War. The star of the strip was talking to the person next to him who related he was too old for war. He then turned to Doonesbury and said, "Hell, I don't even remember how to use the f-word."

Doonesbury looked at him and said, "Just use it like an adjective."

I love that particular cartoon. I cut it out and stuck it on the wall next to my desk. I loved it because in a way, it rang true.

The last job I had in the Air Force was that of a public affairs specialist. I could work on the base newspaper, edit the paper, write news releases for public release, conduct tours of the base, arrange for speakers to attend civilian functions and a variety of other jobs. But the one job I enjoyed the most was working with the civilian media.

My baptism of fire so to speak was when I worked at the US Air Force Survival School at Fairchild AFB, west of Spokane, Wash. I arranged several media interviews with survival instructors and had my own radio show on a Spokane station where I interviewed an instructor about survival techniques unique to the Inland Empire area. It wasn't difficult working under those conditions.

However, to make sure I was ready for anything the media might throw at me in the future, the Air Force sent me to DINFOS, the Defense Information School, in Indianapolis to learn more of my trade. During one of the courses, we were lectured on how to handle the tough, hard-hitting news questions which seem to always happen at a news conference. After the classroom discussion, we were given scenarios to study and then we would be put in front of the camera and be interviewed by a local reporter.

My scenario was that of a mid-air collision of two US Navy Blue Angels during an air show. No one was killed, but the pilots ejected and private property had been destroyed.

One of the things they told us was when you are asked a question which takes several minutes to ask and in which the reporter is making a number of unsubstantiated points, that we not answer the question at the end, as that will validate all the points made during the asking of the question. The proper thing to do is to ask the person to repeat the question. Most of the time, they will ask only the actual question the second time, leaving the unsubstantiate crap off. When the interviewee then answers the question, there is no other points being validate.

So when my turn came to be interviewed, I got up went to the front of the class and began my exercise. The first question I was asked was what happened. So I gave a brief statement of events, highlighting that everyone survived and the private property destroyed would be compensated for. Then added that a board of qualified officers will investigate the cause of the accident.

The reporter then went into a long, drawn out question berating flight training, demonstration teams, and the military in general and ended it all with the question, "Is what happened today worth the cost?" I looked at her, remembered the training and asked her to repeat question. You'd figure they would throw a curve at ya and they did. This reporter asked the exact same question, almost word for word and ended with the same question.

I figured if I asked her to repeat it again, I'd get the same practiced question, so there wasn't any reason for me to do so. Instead, I cocked my head to the side, squint just so slightly, looked the reporter straight in the eye and said, "Shit happens." Well, everyone cracked up, including the reporter who told me to sit down. I actually got through the exercise without answering a single question. But it was a learning experience for me and that was the entire purpose of the training.

Following the survival school, I was assigned to Columbus AFB, Miss., where I had a couple of run-ins with the media, but for the most part, they treated me good and weren't any trouble. After that assignment, I went to Thule AB, Greenland. There wasn't any media there to worry about except for those who travelled through for one reason or another. I have an interesting story about a Scandinavian reporter who brought all sorts of trouble down on my office and commander of the base...but it's a story I'll save for a future post.

Following Greenland, I was assigned to Elmendorf AFB, near Anchorage, Alaska. It was there where I really came under fire, and from when the memory surfaced.

About a year after my arrival at Elmendorf, the base was holding their annual air show. On that particular weekend, I had the on-call duty. It was the on-call person's job to field telephone queries from the media, obtain the required anwers, clear the information, then pass it on to the requestor. Not a hard job, but one that could take a long time to accomplish since we had to have everything reviewed by the three-star general on base before we could release it...and that was a pain in the ass.

Early in the morning of the air show day, I had been contacted by the command post on base and told that rising flood water at Galena AS, located on the north side of the Yukon River in the interior of Alaska, was going to force an evacuation of the site until the waters resceded. That wouldn't have been a big deal except for two things. First, the evacuees were being flown into Elmendorf during the air show; and second, the two Alert F-15s were being relocated to Elmendorf.

Now, this incident took place at the height of the Cold War. Soviet aircraft were constantly making moves towards US airspace, and Alert aircraft at two sites in Alaska, Galena being one and King Salmon Airport being the other, would be launched to intercept them before they reached our airspace. It was a cat and mouse game, that was played seriously by both sides.

As soon as the C-130s carrying the first of the evacuees to Elmendorf landed, an announcement was made for the show attendees that a real world situation had developed and that it might cause some delays in the scheduled flying activities. That announcement was all the local media needed to flood me with phone calls. I took all the questions (at the time, I had no data what-so-ever) and told each reporter I would get back to them as soon as I could. After getting the required information, I located my counterpart who worked for the general, told him what I had, and he basically gave it the nod of approval as it was strictly harmless facts.

I then proceeded to call back the reporters and pass on the information to them. At one of the call-backs to one of the local newspapers, I was asked another question. The reporter asked if the relocation of the Alert F-15 aircraft posed any problems with the reaction time of the aircraft should the Soviets decide to head our way again. My mind instantly went through a number of scenarios of what would happen with each answer. One of those instant thoughts was that if I said I would get back to you, the reporter would think there was a problem and wouldn't believe anything I got back to him with...and I didn't want that. I also thought that if I answered the question right then and there, without the general's approval, I would probably being damaging my career. But my job at the time was to help people understand the role of the Air Force in their day-to-day lives, and not do anything which would portray the Air Force or this county in poor light. So I answered the question right then and there. I told the reporter it in no way affected the response time of the Alert birds.

The next day my boss and I were called to the general's office. He wanted to know the story surrounding a headline in the morning's newspaper which read: Air Force evacuates Galena: Officials say they can still do their job...or something like that. Inside the article, I was quoted as saying the change in location of the aircraft had no affect on our ability to intercept any Soviet intrusion. The article also talked about the evacuation and flood waters, but the general knew about those questions. Fearing the worst, my boss and I waited for the hammer to fall. But it didn't. The general was so impressed with how I handled the situation, that he stated that from that point on, no one else, other than my boss or I, were allowed to talk to the media about anything, and best of all, we were to use our own judgement as to whether it the information needed to be cleared by his office or not.

Eight months later and hundreds of media queries, I was again in tricky situation and facing the news media. On a Friday afternoon, an F-15B model, a two seat version of the single seat air superiority fighter, took off with an enlisted man in the back seat. The back seater was being given an incentive flight for doing a good job as a crew chief. Two hours into the flight, the aircraft disappeared off radar and never reappeared. We immediately dispatched search teams to the last known radar position of the aircraft and I went to the Rescue Coordination Center which was my job when any search and rescue was occuring. As soon as I got there, I knew we wouldn't be doing a lot of searching that day, as the weather in the area was bad.

In town, the media had found out that we lost and aircraft and I was being flooded with calls regarding the lost aircraft. Since we had not been able to contact the next of kin I was unable to say anything regarding the lost aircraft. Everyone who called knew what we lost. But since I wasn't verifying the information, no one was using it. When I finally could release the information, it was late in the day. I explained about the poor weather conditions in the search area and that we would try again Saturday.

The next morning, I got up and went to the RCC and found the same thing going on which we had the previous day. The weather was just too rotten to do any searching. So, I again called the media I had contacted the previous day, told them there wouldn't be a search that day either and headed home after making sure I had a good battery in my beeper. The news that night made mention that bad weather was thrwarting attempts to locate the missing aircraft and that we would try again Sunday which according to forecasts, would give searchers a good window in which to operate.

The next morning, there was a lot more interest in the lost aircraft, as the news of it had been picked up by national outlets. By 6 am, I had already had half a dozen calls and I knew more would come in. So I called back the earlier callers and as others called, told them I would hold a news conference at one of the gates at noon.

At the appointed time, I was at the gate and so were dozens of news media. Everyone from radio to newspapers to television were there, waiting for what I had to say. Armed with the latest information, I made a short announcement that we would begin a extensive search of the target area at 2 pm when the weather would begin to clear from the area. I then added on the known facts and finally, opened it up for a question and answer period. Most of the questions were simple to answer...until a television reporter from Seattle raised his hand.

I acknowledged him and he began his question. It went something like this: "I have sources which have told me that you didn't loose the aircraft at all, that the pilot actually flew the aircraft across the straits and turned it over to the Soviet for a substantial reward. Do you have anything to say about that?"

I looked straight at the reporter and without hesitation said, "That's a stupid fucking statement. Does anyone have a serious question?"

There was a moment of silence, then everyone, except for the reporter who asked the question, burst out laughing. That statement basically ended the news conference. The reporters headed back to Anchorage to file what they had, I headed back to the RCC to monitor events. Four hours later, called the media again to tell them we had located the crash site.

And it was nowhere near the Soviet Union.

June 7

2008-06-07T14:43:00.000-07:00

It's June 7, 1944 and war is raging in Europe. The day before, Allied units from Great Britain, Canada and the U.S.A. stepped off troop carriers and into a wall of death.

The reason? To rid the world of a dictator...a mass murderer. Thousands died on June 6, 1944...thousands more in the days which followed. Less than a year later, the war in Europe was over. A war which began more than four years earlier, was over. Europe was free of oppression.

Now, it's June 7, 2008 and all I heard about on the news was Obama this, Hillary that. The Democratic nominee race is finished, the presidential race is five months away and news organizations throughout the U.S. could only talk about a Wannabe and Has-been.

What really got me though, was this website. In honor of the anniversary of June 6, 1944, the owner of this site designed a cardstock model of a Stinson L-5 Sentinel. The aircraft was used throughout World War II as an observation plane, a small transport and was nicknamed the Flying Jeep. While you are on Roman's site, look around and see what else he has to offer.

Readers of my blog (the few, the proud, the readers of rarely published material) know I enjoy cardstock modeling. I have designed my own models based on the Flintstones world of comic fame. And those who go to the Stinson L-5 site above might realize why I am writing this. Clicking on Flintstones above will take you to where my models are hosted. And, I would like to thank Rick "The Webdude" for giving my creation space to roam the world. You can check out more offerings scrolling on the link for my models and can go to the Webdude's homepage.

But the fact remains, it took a website of a talented person in the Ukraine for me to see something which honored those who fought and died, and those who fought and survived the battle on the beaches of Normandy, France 64 years ago.

Taking Everything in Stride

2008-05-01T12:24:00.000-07:00

I often see something somewhere which reminds of something somewhere which happened to me. Most of the time, those happenings are personal to me and I'll only share them with my better half if I ever find her. But then there are the ones that to me are so comical, that I want to share them with the world so someone somewhere can find a reason to laugh.

Well, one of those somethings occurred yesterday and I am still smiling about it.

I was watching television at the time (don't remember the program) when a commercial for a long lasting gum aired. The advertisement began with a man walking along and suddenly a goat runs up and slams into him. He gets up and the goat does it again. The commercial then goes on to spread the name of the product around and regularly scheduled programming continues. But I was laughing at a past experience to much to remember much after the man got "rammed."

Ten years ago I lived in a mobile home located on the property of a family north of Prineville, Oregon. The landlord had a number of acres of land and some of it was set aside for animal. At this particular time, there were goats in the fenced area. Two of the goats were billys who were crafty fellows. Somehow or another they would get out of the pasture and would then be found munching on garden plants around the houses. When that happened, my landlord, Don, and I would go out and each pick one up and carry it back to the field and release it with the rest of the herd.

After a while, the billys began to realize that when they had escaped and the humans came near, they would be unceremoniously removed from freedom and placed once again within the confines of the herd. I guess they loved their freedom, as they soon began running off to other areas of the various nearby gardens and grab a quick bite before running off again. It would then take both of us (sometimes my mother would assist us) to corner one of the goats before we could grab him and carry it back to the pasture. However, this didn't last long.

The goats soon learned they could kick and wail about we wouldn't attempt to pick them up. So, we started roping the goats and leading them to the pasture. This worked for about half a dozen time before the billys started thrashing about. The first time it happened, I ended up with a nice rope burn as the goat suddenly dart off, pulling the rope through my hands. After that I began wearing gloves and when they would thrash about, I'd wrap the rope around my hand and start pulling harder.

But doing that was very hard on my arms and shoulder. Besides, anyone driving by and seeing the happenings would swear there was some sort of animal abuse going on. But it was something that had to be done. After all, no one wanted to a goat to go missing.

The odd thing was, every time we put the billys back in the pasture, we would walk the fence line to see if we could find how they were getting out. And every time, we were stumped. We speculated that they were climbing on the hood of a car in the field near the fence and leaping over. However, the dirt and dust on the hood was undisturbed. We looked for areas where they were getting their nose under the fence and wiggling through, but couldn't find anywhere that looked to be happening. We finally decided they were just leaping over four foot or so fence line, which neither of us really believed since we never saw them jumping at all. We were stumped.

One particularly hot afternoon, my mother and I, along with Don and his wife, were relaxing under the shaded back porch of my landlord talking about things. We were all sort of watching the goats in the field for some reason when it happened. As we sat watching, the two escape artist goats walked over towards the wooden gate and when the first was about five feet away, it lowered his head and took off. It hit the gate to the side of the latch causing it to fly open just long enough for the goat to escape before the gate slammed shut again. Without a pause, the second goat followed suit and both billys were free with no evidence of their escape showing anywhere.

Well, we on the porch couldn't help but start laughing. After weeks of trying to figure out how the goats got loose, they made their escape if full view for our enjoyment. After we finished laughing, Don and I got up to herd in the goats. They evidently realized the error of their ways, as they were standing within 10 feet of the gate staring at us. I told my landlord I would circle around the other side of the garage so if they tried to escape capture via that route, I would be there to cut them off. But those critters must have known they were busted, as they just stood there as my landlord checked out the gate, then opened it. At the same time, I grabbed one by the horns and led it back through the gate.

I then turned around to herd the other one back inside and as soon as I grabbed one of his horns, he went spread-eagle on the ground. I grabbed the other horn and attempted to wrestle him up, but he fought me the entire time, remaining on the ground with all four legs splayed out to the side. Don decided he would grab the goat by the back end and lift, but the billy squirmed enough to prevent him from getting his hands underneath. The goat was actually fighting us to keep his freedom.

Finally, I got down on my knees, wrapped my arm around the goats neck and with the other controlling his head (and horns...which wasn't easy as this goat had strong neck muscles), I rose up and was able to drag the goat through the gate. Oddly enough, as soon as he knew it was a lost cause, he gave up fighting me, making my job a lot easier.

To prevent further escapes, we tied down the top and bottom of the gate and then went back to the shade of the back porch.

There were no more escapes after that, and several months later, the entire gaggle of goats was sold and moved to another pasture where Ben and Jerry (my names for the two escapees) could plot new dashes to freedom.

But I'll never forget watching those two goats ram the gate and escape. Nor will I soon forget the fun I had getting them back into the pasture.

Rocky and Bullwinkle

2008-04-25T12:25:00.000-07:00

Wednesday evening, I recorded the newest Mythbusters for later viewing and found the time to watch it last night. The show was interesting, in that they were tackling Alaskan Myths.

I lived in Alaska twice for two years and loved every moment of the time I spent there. I spent most of my time in the Anchorage area, but I did work for short periods of time in other areas. As I said, I loved the state. Alaska is definitely the land of extremes and amazement.

In the Mythbusters show, one of the myths they were tackling was whether or not you could lessen damage to your car if you speed up when hitting a moose in the middle of the road is the only recourse a driver has. They sort of proved it wrong, and I sort of knew they would. Moose legs are really long and most cars would go under the moose bringing it right into the windshield. As they were discussing their experiment, I thought back to one of my first moose encounters in Alaska.

It happened shortly after I arrived at Elmendorf AFB. I was tasked with driving an F-6S fuel truck containing low grade aviation fuel to Six Mile Lake. Once there, I was to refuel several Civil Air Patrol de Havilland Beavers. The lake was called Six Mile Lake for a reason...it was six miles from main base area along a dirt road cut through some of the thick on-base Alaskan wilderness.

I went out to my truck, inspected it, climbed in, did my radio check and drove off. The trip was uneventful for the first couple of miles and I was enjoying the scenery around me as I drove along. Most of the other workers in my job didn't like the Six Mile Lake run as it was long and dirty (dirt road, remember?), but it gave me the chance to get out and about and see things I wouldn't normally see. As I neared the midway point on the outbound run, I came across a sweeping right turn with woods on the left and an open prairie on the right. I also noticed a moose just entering the open field. The moose was on a fast run away from something, or wanting to go somewhere mighty fast.

As I watched the moose heading towards the road, I realized there was a very good chance that if both of us remained at the same speed we were going, that a collision would occur. Not wanting to damage government equipment, I decided I would slow down and let the moose cross in front of me. But as I began doing that, the moose also slowed and the collision again seemed likely. I decided the moose was slowing to eat or something and again applied pressure to the gas peddle and sped up. By this time, I was halfway through the turn, the moose was off to my right requiring me to lean forward a little and turn my head far to the right to see it and I needed to concentrate on navigating a washboard section of the turn.

I hadn't gone fifty feet, when BAMM! and the several ton fuel truck I was driving, began rocking. I knew what had happened and slammed on the breaks and came to a stop at the apex of the turn I was making. I immediately leaned forward and to the right and looked out the passenger side window of the cab. There, 20 feet away, I saw the moose. It was heading back into the woods from the direction it came, but it wasn't running. It was walking...slowly walking...and staggering. It's head was down and swaying from side-to-side as it walked. I got out of my truck and walked around to the passenger side, keeping an eye on the large creature heading away from me.

I wasn't much more than 40 feet from it, but it was ignoring me and my truck. I watched it for a moment and then looked at the side of the truck. There in the passenger's door, was a large dent. It wasn't there when I checked the truck out prior to departure...and my stomached cringed. How would I explain this to my boss? I looked closer at the dent and realized there were moose hairs around it. That would help, I thought. I went back around to the driver's side, reached in for my radio and keyed the mike.

"Fuels 4 to Control," I said.

"Go ahead four," came the reply from the dispatcher.

"A moose has hit my truck and damaged the door."

There was a long delay and then a new voice came on the net.

"Say again, four?" said my boss.

I repeated what I said and after a few seconds, came my boss' voice again.

"Where did you hit the moose?"

"I didn't...it hit me."

"Is the truck operable?"

"Yes."

"Finish the mission and bring the truck back to dispatch when finished."

After acknowledging the order, I glanced back at the moose who was now reentering the woods from where it came, started the truck and drove off. I finished my job and made my way back to the dispatch office. When I arrived there, everyone came out to see for themselves just what happened. I showed my supervisor the dent the moose made. While looking it over, they had also found moose hairs in the area of the dent and shook their heads in amazement. After I explained to them in more detail what had happened, we all retired to the office area where I got a cup of coffee.

As I stood at the bar sipping the hot liquid, my section chief, or boss, walked over and said, "Jones was able to pop the dent out with little effort. There was also a little damage to the pump section of the truck. You think it just didn't like yellow trucks?"

"Either that," I said, "or it was blind or just plain stupid."

That wasn't the last encounter I had with Alaskan wildlife. Stay tuned for more moose stories from The Last Frontier.

Who? Me...A Smart Ass?

2008-04-22T19:04:00.000-07:00

I wasn't a good student in school. In high school, I failed and had to retake in summer school, English. One of the last things my English teacher said to me, was, "Never get a job requiring the use of the English language."

Well, the Air Force didn't hear that and made me a journalist. I had never had any training in it, but I was a quick learner. Within a year, I had made my way to editor of the paper and I turned into a pretty good one, taking several Air Force level awards and placing third (out of five) at Department of Defense level during my 16 plus years as a public affairs specialist which included the journalist job (I spent my first four years as a fuels specialist).

One reason I did well in that job was I wanted to learn the job. It was better than pumping gas to an airplane, which I didn't mind doing when I had to, but the public affairs job sounded a lot better.

These days, I use my writing skills for blogging (you know that already if you are reading this) and for writing short stories and several novels I am working on. I also have a lot of experiences in my life I can rely on and modify in one way or another for certain areas of my writing. Being in the Air Force, traveling the world, helped me with gathering these experiences.

But what also helps me with my writing in my broad knowledge base of things. Like I mentioned above, I catch on quick to things...especially things I want to learn about. I know a lot about a lot of things. I know about earthquakes because I have experienced several killer quakes around the world. I know about volcanoes because I have experienced several eruptions around the world. I know about astronomy because I became interested in it when was 14 years old. I know about birds and bugs because I photograph them and want to know what it is I have created an image of. There are a many other topics I am knowledgeable of, because I wanted to learn about those things.

Because of my knowledge, I have been called a smart ass, a know-it-all, and a few other things. I have also been disbelieved when I answered a question about a topic so obscure that few people even knew what the question was about. But that's me. I love to share my knowledge of things. It comes partly from my military career where I was in a public service position. I would give tours of the bases I was stationed at and have to be able to answer any and all questions thrown at me. So I learned about the places I visited and objects which would be seen along the tour route.

But these days, I don't give tours of anything. I only occasionally do something new which peaks my interest, such as card modeling. I thought it would be fun to create my own card models. So I did. I selected objects from one of my favorite cartoons, The Flintstones. If you go to the website here, and scroll down about halfway, you'll come across my stone age designs. They are available free for downloading and printing. Then with some scissors, Xacto knife, white glue and a little time, you can create your own stone age world. There are other designs from other people, all free for the downloading, but if you go there, don't forget to locate the designs from Ashrunner and look at them. If you do, let me know what you think of them.

But I still have a lot of knowledge in my brain I use. When I can, I pass on that information to others. Recently a friend of mine commented about our relationship being so one sided. When I asked for clarification and was told that I have taught this person so much about a lot of things, while I have gotten very little in return. Well, I don't pass on my knowledge with the expectation that I get something in return. Knowing that I have added to someone else's level of knowledge is a good enough feeling for me. When I was writing news stories, knowing at least one person read any particular of mine, was enough for me to continue. It's the same with sharing my vast database of knowledge.

I love learning something new and I retain that information because you never know when that information will come in handy. But you need to know that the information you are passing on is the correct information. I have made mistakes with my information in past. But I try to limit those errors in fact as much as possible. But there was one time I was wrong and that one time was the impetus for me to learn as much as I can about as much as I can. That incident happened when I was in the fifth grade.

More on that later, but first a some background is needed. When I was four or five years old, I was staying at my aunt's house in Alvin, Illinois. While I was there, a thunderstorm developed. Not long after that, we heard of a tornado warning on the radio. My aunt's family, being accustomed to this sort of thing, gathered up all the children, and led everyone down into the basement. We had tuned in the local radio station we waited for the "All clear." When it came, we went upstairs and checked things out. Things were okay on my aunt's farm, but on the late news that evening, was a story about the damage done to a farm not far from aunt's place.

A photo of the damage was shown and I looked at that black and white picture on the round
cathode ray tube of my aunt's television set with fascination. I also listened as the announcer said, "This is what the tornado did to the home of (I can't remember the name so I'll just say:)
John Smith of Alvin." On the screen was a picture of a tree which had been broken and tossed against the house. That picture was burned in my mind forever, along with what the announcer said.

The next day, my father came out to pick me up and he went out to see the damage himself. He took his camera with him and took a photo of the house damage which I had seen the night before. This is that image.

Flash forward to the fifth grade for me. It was science class time and we were learning about storms. At one point in the class, the teacher asked, "Does anyone know what a tornado is?" Excited that a question was asked which I actually knew the the answer to, I raised my hand. The teacher raised his head, pointed to me and called my name. I stood, fully prepared to give my answer. Now, remember, I was young at the time the above incident happened and it did make a lasting impression on me. I can still see the image on the television screen to this day taken from a slightly different angle than the photo.

I cleared my throat and proudly blurted out my answer. "A tornado is a walking tree which goes around destroying houses."

I slowly sat back in my seat even as the laughter from the rest of the class got louder and louder. I couldn't believe I was wrong and when the smiling, head shaking teacher finally calmed the classroom down, he pointed out the error of my description.

I vowed at that point in time, I would never again volunteer to answer any question in school. I also vowed that I would learn as much as I could about everything.

If that makes me a smart ass, so be it. 8v)

Rockin 'n' Rollin in the Midwest

2008-04-18T17:26:00.000-07:00

Things were shaky today for people in the Midwest. A 5.4 magnitude earthquake rumbled through a number states in the early morning hours, followed by a smaller aftershock several hours later.

From what I have read, the quake was felt as far away as Atlanta, Georgia. It was definitely felt by a friend of mine in Lexington, Kentucky. However, my mom who lives about 200 miles north of the quake area, didn't feel it. She was asleep like a lot of people at the time the the temblor rolled through. But something woke her at the time of the quake...probably it rolling through.

I remember my first "felt" quake. It was in 1968. At the time, I was working in an animal hospital on the south side of Chicago. The animals in the back room where I worked started acting strange, then the cage doors started rattling and I could feel a rumbling. I could almost hear something, but the critters in the place were making way too much noise for me to know for sure. Not long after that, one of the front office people came back to tell me there had been an earthquake.

Several years later, I was in the Air Force, stationed in extremely seismically active, Alaska. My first quake there was an interesting one. I was at an off-base mobile home where myself and two co-workers lived to get away from the barracks life. I had just come back from a dental appointment, and sat down in a swivel-rocker to read my mail. The noon newscast was just beginning and suddenly, I saw the announcer dive under his desk. A split second later, just after I had opened a letter from a friend in Ohio, my chair started swiveling and rocking on its own. Then it was over. I looked around and then looked at the television screen and had to laugh. The announcer had poked his head up over the edge, looked around, then got back in his chair and said, "If you don't know, the Anchorage area has just experienced an earthquake. More on that as it comes in."

Several months later, during the early morning and I was out on the tarmac refueling a C-141 Starlifter. At the time, I was watching a distance aircraft in the landing pattern. Suddenly, I started swaying side-to-side and I looked towards the control tower. I couldn't see it moving, but I could see ripples in the runway. I looked again at the aircraft in the pattern and it was still coming in. When I went back to our dispatch office, I was told there had been an earthquake.

There were a few more minor rockers during my time there, but after I left Alaska, I didn't experience another earthquake until I was reassigned from Texas to northern Italy. Prior to my arrival there, there had been a series of quakes which brought devastation to a number of towns and I was heading into the area of the worst damage. After my arrival, things were rather quiet. The area was being cleaned up and life was returning to normal. Then another quake rolled through. This quake occurred early in the morning as most of us slept. However, it woke everyone in the barracks. I know, because as soon as it finished, the entire building was heard to say, "Holy shit...did you feel that?" Then a line formed at the urinals.

For me, that quake was interesting. I woke just before the shaking began. At that time, one side of my bed was up against a wall. Hanging on the wall, right above where my crotch area was (and still is), was a 4-point, mounted deer head I got in Texas. As soon as the shaking started, I looked up at the mount and said, "Don't fall...Don't fall," over and over. It didn't fall, but it did get moved to a different part of my section of the barracks room.

Later in the morning, I was at work and was being interviewed by a radio announcer from the Southern European Network, a division of the Armed Forces Radio and Television Service, in Vicenza, Italy, about 100 miles south of Aviano, where I was. I recall the announcer asking me what the morning quake was like and as soon as he finished, an aftershock hit. I had just reached for my little, yellow plastic coffee cup and couldn't immediately figure out why it kept moving just out of my reach. Then it hit me...EARTHQUAKE! I stood up and looked at my supervisor who was rushing out of the office and was frozen with what I was seeing.

I worked in a cinder block building and the wall I was staring at, was painted cinder block. I was watching waves move through the cinder blocks. I could see them actually bending and not crumbling...and I couldn't figure it out. Then the shaking stopped and slowly made my way outside the building. The entire cast of characters who worked in the headquarters for the 40th Tactical Group was out there. I was the last to leave the building. About 30 minutes later when engineers had given the building an okay for occupancy, we were allowed back in. More rumblers moved through the region in the days which followed, but none like that one.

I didn't feel anymore earthquakes until I was reassigned to Anchorage, Alaska in 1983. I hadn't been on base for more than two weeks, when a very strong, quick quake occurred. I was just walking into my office when it hit and almost as quickly, finished. When I entered the office, I saw the person I was replacing halfway out the window of the building. He had a mortal fear of quakes and would do anything to avoid them, including jumping out of a third floor office window to make sure the building didn't collapse on him. But the quake finished before he could leap, and he was spared the consequences of what might have happened on landing.

It was in Alaska, where something really strange happened regarding an earthquake. It was a year or so after I had arrived there. I was in a new job as the community relations advisor for the base. I was sitting at my desk in the office I shared with our media relations NCO, when I felt dizzy and put my head down. My office mate noticed something strange with me and asked if I was okay. I looked up at him and said, "In 24 hours, we will have a 5.2 earthquake," and I went back to work on some paperwork. The NCO with me, shook his head and went back to what he was doing. This took place at 3 pm.

The next day at 2:58 pm, a 5.4 magnitude earthquake hit. I had missed it by two minutes and two degrees of magnitude. However, soon as it finished, the person in the office with me gathered some notebooks, forms and pens and walked out. He went to another of the offices and told everyone what had happened. For the next several minutes, people would walk by my office and look inside at me, then walk away. The person in the office with me during that incident, refused to work with me after that. Our office areas were rearranged and I was considered a really strange person by everyone. Sorry, Tom. I didn't mean to upset you.

After I left Alaska, I felt minor quakes in Honduras while I was on temporary assignment there. None of them were big, just little shakers everyone laughed at. But in the summer of 1990, I was in The Philippines. On a nice July day, I worked a little late in the office and when I finished, went out to the bus stop to await transportation to my barracks. As I stood there talking to two Filipina women, a quake hit. It was so strong, and so long, it actually knocked me on my ass and began bouncing me around. As I sat on the roadway acting like a rubber ball with the quake, I recall looking towards our legal building across the street. It was a cinder block building and again, I could see waves moving through the cinder blocks.

As soon at that quake was finished, I got up, brushed myself off and went right back to my office. As I entered the front part of the office, my boss was walking through the door. He looked at me and said, "Where did you come from?" I told him I was at the bus stop when it hit and then the phone rang...and rang...and rang...and rang. It didn't stop ringing for several hours. By that time, several coworkers were in helping out and I was sent to the command post to help coordinate things there and answer media queries during the night hours. I worked the night hours there for six days before things returned to normal.

That quake was a doozy. It registered 7.8 on the Richter Scale and produced thousands of minor aftershocks. And personally, I believe it was the beginning of the end for Clark AB, as less than a year later, Mt. Pinatubo erupted and destroyed most of the base.

I haven't felt another quake since I left The Philippines in November 1990. However, in 1994, I was on the Oregon coast with my nephew. We were talking and walking along the shoreline when he asked me something. I don't remember his question, but I remember my answer. I looked at him and said, "I could tell you in two hours, California will be hit by one hell of an earthquake...but you wouldn't believe me." Two hours or so later, California was devastated by the Northridge Earthquake.

These days, I keep my thoughts to myself and hope someday to feel the frantic rumblings of a quake again. After all, they are Mother Nature's roller coaster rides.

What's in a Name?

2008-04-08T14:59:00.000-07:00

I am a man of many names. Yes, I have alternate identities.

There is my give name, then my nickname and my online name.

As for my given name, my parents gave it to me shortly after I was born. I guess most folks get named that way.

My nickname is Bear. It is something I picked up somewhere along the way during my adventures in life. However, it didn't start out being what it is now. My nickname has gone through a variety of changes until it finally settled down. During my military career, I was called The Mad Russian (a reference to what, I don't know), Ol' Yeller (a reference to a small, plastic, yellow coffee cup I used for a long time), Larry (a shortened version of my given name), Enzo (the Italian version of Larry) and finally, the early stages of my final nickname, Kodiak and Grizz (a reference to my rough, tough NCO attitude resembling that of a grizzly bear).

During my second assignment to Alaska, I didn't make a good impression on my bosses at first. Several errors on my part made them question my capabilities and after several changes in my job positions, I was finally placed in media relations where I handled almost all media queries regarding the base. It was in that position which I made a name for myself and was one of only two people on base authorized by a three-star general to talk to the media. I'll get into that in a future post.

During that assignment, I worked for the 21st Tactical Fighter Wing commander in the public affairs office. However, there was also the headquarters for the Alaskan Air Command on base and there was a public affairs office there also...and they were higher up the chain of command. In other words, my office was subordinate to them. The command office was run by a full colonel who had a good sense of humor. Shortly after the general told him I would be included in the short list of people able to speak for the Air Force at Elmendorf AFB, the colonel began calling me Kodiak. If you know my last name (Sobkoviak), it's not a far reach from the last six letters. He also developed a joke regarding the nickname.

First, let me explain something. In Alaska, there are Brown Bears...big mean Brown Bears. There are also bigger and meaner Kodiak Brown Bears...known as Kodiak Bears. Now for the joke. This colonel enjoyed telling the joke around me, and I didn't mind it, as it added to my reputation. It went like this:

Q. What's meaner than a Brown Bear?

A. A Sub-kodiak!

Well, the nickname Kodiak came about and it stuck....for a while.

Fast forward to Scott AFB, in Illinois three years later. Someone there had heard about my Alaska nickname and mentioned it to someone else. For some reason however, no one liked it, but a new one came about, which was actually a growth of Kodiak. Someone there began calling my Grizz, in reference to my rough demeanor similar to that of a Grizzly Bear.

Several years later, I was transfered to Clark AB, The Philippines. One of the first things I did there, was join an intramural softball team. When I did, I was asked what number I wanted and name I wanted on the back of my shirt. I picked the number 26 (for Billy Williams, my favorite Cubs ballplayer) and my then current nickname, Grizz. But the people at Clark didn't like calling me Grizz, so they started calling me Bear.

The name stuck and when someone asks me what they should call me, I said, "Bear." The nickname Bear for me was popular with everyone on base who knew me. Clark was my last assignment in the Air Force and was badly damaged in a volcanic eruption. During the aftermath of the eruption, everyone left on base (about 1,200 at first) carried multifunction radios around for communications. The radios were capable of clear air transmissions, private channel transmissions, scrambled transmissions, telephone calls, and a few other things I can't remember. When you needed to contact someone, you would say call-sign of the person you wanted to contact, then your call-sign on the clear air channel. Everyone could hear what was said on that transmission.

However, if you wanted to talk privately to the person, you would punch in a set of numbers for the person you were calling and talk away and no one would be able to hear the conversation. It was a rarely used capability as there were limited channels for private conversations, but the higher ranking officials often used the private channels to talk between members of their staff.

However, there were several times when I would get a private channel call from my boss regarding something I needed to do. Generally, he would punch in my code and say, "Bear?" into the mic and wait for my reply. Then there were several times when the vice commander needed to contact me and he would do the same thing, but follow-up with his call-sign. At first he would say my call-sign, then his. But then he began saying, "Bear...(his call-sign which I don't recall)." The first time he did it, it took me by surprise. But I got used to it. Then one day, the general in charge of the post-Pinatubo activities called me. "Bear...Gator here." I grabbed my brick (what we called the heavy, brick sized radios we carried around) and replied, "Bear here...go Gator." He asked me to track down my boss and have him contact his office immediately. I replied in the affirmative and that was that. I was the only person on the radio net who would be referred to by his nickname, rather than call-sign.

Today, people still call me Bear to my face. I have promoted a book about Clark AB in which I am prominently featured in the final 100 pages. The author of the book uses my Bear nickname in it and some of my friends have picked it up and now use it when calling me.

Finally, there is my online persona. If you're reading this post, you know the title of my blog. Ashrunner's Rants. I also have Ashrunner's Photo Safaris (my Flickr account) and all the forums I belong to, I am known as Ashrunner.

I developed that persona when I first started an online life many years ago. It was somewhere around 1993 or 1994 when I joined AOL. I had actually tried to use Ash Warrior as my nickname there, but for some reason (probably too many letters) it wouldn't take. After several moments of thought, I decided since I've had three volcanos dump ash on me, and once, was forced to flee the occurrence, that Ashrunner would be a good name to use. So I entered it, it was accepted and a legend was born.

For the most, I'll answer to any one of the names listed here. But if you see me in person, please call me Bear.

It's Almost Time!!!

2008-03-27T12:03:00.000-07:00

Ahhh...Spring....warmer weather (usually -- it snowed here last night)...the renewal of life for a not-so-world-famous nature photograher like me (see my not-so-world-famous nature photographs here). It's also the end of Spring Training!

March 31 is the beginning of the Chicago Cubs' regular season of baseball. It's also the beginning of the 100th year of the Cubs not being World Series Champions. That fact doesn't mean a lot to me. What does mean something to me, is that the Cubs have not appeared in a World Series game since I have been around and that's been going on 57 years!

Sure, I have seen the Cubs in the playoffs. I've seen the team play in the league championship series, but I haven't seen them progress further than that...and yes, I would like to...someday.

Every year, Cub fans the world over, dust off their blue or white jerseys, their blue ball caps with that red C in the front (no...it doesn't stand for the Cleveland Indians), their leather gloves, and head to homepage of the Cubs to see what's in store for the coming year.

But the true Cubs fan has been following what the team did over the winter, what has happened during spring training and for the past month or so, has been sitting around the bars of the establishments surrounding Wrigley Field making their predictions for the coming season, arguing with friends and blowing off remarks they consider stupid.

I almost wish I was there.

But I am in central Oregon and though there isn't a nearby major league team (Seattle is about the closest) and the sports announcers never talk about the Cubs, I still do what I can to follow my team.

Yes, the Cubs are my team. They have been for as long as I can remember. I have posted some of this in previous posts, possibly here and definitely on some of the other blogs I have used, but it's the CUBS! and it's soon Opening Day and I am going to repeat myself again 8v)

My earliest Cubs memory is one of me, my dad, my uncle and my grandfather going to a game at Wrigley Field against the St. Louis Cardinals. It may not have been my first game, but it is the first game which I retain somewhat of a memory. I recall getting my first look at that expanse of green as my father walked up the catwalk with me on his shoulders and I knew I loved baseball at that moment.

We took our seats down along the left field line, back up away from the wall and waited for the game to begin. I don't have much of a memory of that game as it was played, but I was hooked on baseball. Maybe it was the cheering crowds around me, but I knew I liked baseball and I liked the Cubs.

Over time, I went to many more games. I was at a game in the early '60s which was the last away game Stan Musial played for the St. Louis Cardinals. I was at a game against the Los Angeles Dodgers which Ken Holtzman lost a no-hitter in the top of the ninth with one out. He went on to pitch two no-hitters for the Cubs. I watched great players such as Willy Mays, Lou Brock, Maury Wills and many others play against the Cubs. And win or lose, I loved every minute of each game.

I spent time in the right field bleachers during the summer of 1969. The Cubs were headed to the World Series that year...until the New York Mets came to town. The Cubs dropped the series to them, dropped out of first place and the Mets went on to take it all. That was the year of the Miracle Mets. I went on to the join the U.S. Air Force a month after that season ended and I lost touch with a lot of what the Cubs were doing. Letters from home or friends would mention them during the season, newspapers where I was had the standings and I always knew where to find the Cubs...I only had to look near the bottom of the National League standings. But I still loved the Cubs.

One of the things I remember from the 1969 season was Jack Brickhouse. He started the "Die Hard Cubs Fan Club that year. Of course, he was the first member of the club. For a certain amount of money, your membership got you some Cubs items, a card declaring you to be a Die Hard Cubs Fan, with your membership number (mine was 11,000 something by the time I got around to joining the club). I proudly showed that card to every baseball fan I met until my wallet was lost and with it, my membership card. But I remained a Cubs fan...win or lose.

The one thing I didn't like about my military movements, was that they normally occurred in the off-season. Most of the time when I would go to Chicago on leave, baseball would still be in hibernation. Even when I was in Chicago during the regular season, the Cubs wouldn't be. It was almost like I was being punished for losing my membership card. But I did make a game in the late '80s against the St. Louis Cardinals. I was sitting along the right field line in the lower level with my brother, enjoying the game. I mentioned the right field line, as that was the side of the field most of the Cardinal fans sat. You see, the Cubs and Cards are rivals. So, when the Cubs play in St. Louis, a lot of blue invades Busch Stadium (or whatever it is called now) and when the Cards are in Chicago, a sea of red shows up and occupies the right field area.

The Cubs lost that game, but that's not what I remember most about the game. Sometime during the seventh inning, a Cardinal fan in the upper level, dropped down a Teddy Bear with a noose around it's neck. It dropped to about 10 feet above and in front of my brother and I. Around us, Cardinal fans were cheering...I was booing...and I was one of the few booing. How that person above us knew to drop that effigy in front of us was probably an accident, but it was a cool one.

That was the last Cubs home game I went to. Even when in 1995, I lived for a little under a month four blocks away from Wrigley Field...but the Cubs, of course, were on the road during most of that time, the days they were home, I was busy with the reason I was in Chicago.

I also remember the first time I watched the Cubs play not in Wrigley Field. It was around 1966 and the Cubs and White Sox every year, played a benefit game at Comiskey Park, the south side home of the Chicago White Sox. A friend of mine was going and his dad invited me to join them. So off we went. When we got there, we purchased bleacher tickets and made our way to the outfield seats. Before we got there, we were told by an Andy Frame Usher that the bleacher area was full and that they had roped off the warning track for fans to watch the game from. We were some of the first people to walk out of stadium and onto the playing field for the game.

We made our way over to the right field area and stood there right in the front of the crowds, against the ropes, waiting for the game to start. When it did, I was thrilled to see Billy Williams heading out to play right field. He was my favorite Cubs player and is still my all-time favorite Cubs. Several innings into the game, during a change of pitchers, Billy walked over to where we were. I had just gotten a Coke and was standing there when he came over and asked if he could have a drink. I handed him my cup, he lifted the lid and took a good drink, placed the lid back on it, and handed it back to with a thank you. Needless to say, I was beaming. My favorite player had just taken a drink of my Coke, while I stood on the warning track, watching professional ballplayers play the game. It was a great evening for a Cubs fans...even though the Cubs lost.

But that wasn't the only time I saw the Cubs play outside of Wrigley Field. I did see the Cubs play in Houston's Astrodome in 1985 when I was assigned to Kelly AFB, in San Antonio, Texas. I was almost thrown out of that game. My brother who lived in Dallas at the time, came down for a visit and we decided to drive to Houston for the game. Nolan Ryan was pitching for the Astros (the only time I saw him pitch), but he left in the fourth inning with a sore elbow. Anyway, we were sitting right at the wall along the left field line, about 30 feet from the left field wall. Around the middle part of the game, an Astro was at bat with a man on second. There was fly ball hit to the left field area down the line and Gary Matthews, the Cubs left fielder came running over. He didn't get to the ball in time and it hit in foul territory and bounced over the wall.

I said, "Nice try, Gary," and he started to reply, but suddenly stopped and looked at the umpire with a shocked look on his face. I turned and looked at the ump and he was signally a ground-rule double. I glared at the ump and at the same time yelled, "Are you nuts?" He came running over to me and we began a running argument which lasted a few seconds and ended with him saying, "Be careful...my ruling is law," and he sat down next to a ball boy there for the bullpen. He wasn't one of the base umps, but a line ump placed where he was due to the odd angle of the field there made it difficult for the third base ump to see well.

The two weren't far from us and I watched the ump lean over and then ask the ball boy if the ball was fair or foul. The ball boy, wearing an Astro's jersey top, said, "Yes...it was a foul ball." Hearing that, I yelled back at the ump, "You see? You blew it." Well, the inning then ended and the ump got up, walked over to where I was and we started the argument up again...a little less intense this time. In the end, the ump apologized and the game went on. And of course, the Cubs lost...all because of a ground-rule double that wasn't....not really, but the final was something like 4-0.

When I was stationed near St. Louis in the latter part of the '80s, a friend of mine and I twice attempted to go see the Cubs play in Busch Stadium. Both times, the Air Force had different plans for me and when the day came, I wasn't in town to go to the game.

Over the years here, I have followed the Cubs best as I could. I watched on TV, a stupid Cubs fans interfere with an foul ball out that cost the Cubs the league championship against the Florida Marlins. I watched on TV the Arizona Diamondbacks sweep the Cubs last year in the playoffs. And I will watch the Cubs, win or lose, as often as I can here.

Why? Because I really am a Die Hard Cubs Fan!

My only regret this season, is that during interleague play, they don't play the Cleveland Indians.

Seeing is believing...or is it?

2007-11-25T14:03:00.000-08:00

In my life, I have seen a lot of really cool things. Anytime I want, I can close my eyes and see each one of them as they happened...they were that memorable.

Take the day I was sitting on the edge of a cliff near Thule AB, Greenland with several friends. The view of the ice over Baffin Bay with Saunders Island in the distance was nice enough. But then someone pointed out a small, dark, moving dot on the ice to the south. All of us sat there, keeping an eye on the dot as it got larger and larger. It wasn't long before we realized we were watching an Inuit Eskimo on his dog sled heading home after a hunt. We watched him pass by in total silence. When he then became a small, dark, moving dot on the ice to the north, we left. No one said a word. It was an amazing sight.

Months later, I was down near the docks at Thule when a sound from North Star Bay (the small bay Thule was near) drew my attention. I looked up and at that moment, watched an iceberg roll over in the water. I continued to watch as waves of water moved out from around the berg and washed onto a nearby shore. Between the sound the rolling iceberg, it was an amazing sight.

A couple of years earlier, I was at Fairchild AFB, Washington. It was the day of the annual air show at the base, May 18, 1980. But I never saw the air show. No one did. That morning, Mt. St. Helens, a volcano 300 miles west of where I was, erupted. By the time I got to the show, there was a massive, black cloud of ash on the western horizon growing larger and larger. By 2 pm that formerly beautiful Saturday, it was pitch black outside. I watched it get darker and darker and watched as the sun turned blue in color. I watched as lightning in the colors of pink, green, orange, red and other colors, streaked through the dark sky. And I watched as gray flakes of ash fell around me. In the end, five inches of ash lay on the ground. It was an amazing sight.

Two years before that, I was stationed at Aviano AB, Italy. The base was located at the foot of the Dolomite Mountains, part of the Italian Alps. It was a great place to be stationed. One evening, after I had finished working on the base newspaper (my job was editor of the paper), I was returning from Pordenone, where the paper was printed, when I noticed a thunderstorm forming about midway up the mountains. After I had arrived at a bar I frequented, I went in and found my friends sitting in a booth near the door. I took a seat with them which had a good view out the window of the storm in the mountains. Now, if you know anything about me, you know I love a good storm. So I sat there and watched as lightning strikes flashed, and listened as the thunder echoed through the area. Then I saw something I had never seen before. I saw ball lightning. It wasn't little eight inch balls of glowing plasma or anything like that. It was lightning rolled into a ball. And it wasn't just one...it was three balls. They slowly fell from the sky looking like glowing spaghetti rolled into a loose ball. When the three objects landed, they bounced once or twice then sat on the ground. Because they landed almost on top of a nearby car, I could estimate their sizes. Two were maybe four feet in diameter, possibly three, and the third was twice their size. I was frozen to what I was seeing out the window. For maybe 10 seconds, the three balls sat on the ground, sparkling. I don't know any other way to describe it, but they crackled and sparkled, and suddenly, they exploded. The lights in the bar dimmed, the sound of massive thunder echoed through the land and the balls of lightning were gone. It was an amazing sight.

In October 1973, I was nearing the end of my first term of service in the US Air Force and was stationed at Kincheloe AFB, in the upper peninsula of Michigan. The base was situated in the middle of the northern woods not far from Interstate 75. On a particularly, windy day, I was outside with some friends. We were trying to toss a football around, when a sound was heard in the trees. At first, no one knew what the sound was. But our confusion was short-lived as suddenly, millions of brown, dry leaves, being pushed by the wind, came out of the trees and covered the open area we were standing in. The leaves were 12-18 inches deep and moving as fast as the wind, maybe 25 mph. The leaves flowed all around us and continued for a good 10 minutes. When I would look down at my feet, I would get dizzy looking at the movement of the leaves. I squatted down and put my hands in the path of the oncoming leaves and they would flow up my arms and over my shoulders and continue their journey to the other side of the open area. One of my friends said it looked like I was a lump of leaves in the middle of an ocean of leaves. And as quickly as the leaves arrived, they were gone, back into the trees on the other side. A look around the area we were in showed not a leaf to be seen. It was one of the most amazing sights I had ever experienced.

These are but a few of the wonders I have seen. I have been through earthquakes which did strange things, I was less than 10 miles away from one of the most powerful volcanic eruptions of the 20th Century, I have watched some of the most amazing meteor showers ever seen and I have seen animals do some of the strangest things.

Most of what I have seen is hard to believe. But they happened and they happened to me.

I am just soooo glad I was in the right place, at the right time, to see all the amazing things I have seen.

Where is the thrill?

2007-11-12T23:34:00.000-08:00

If you have read my previous posts, you know I am a Cubs fan. I do like the Chicago Cubs. I went to my first ballgame in Wrigley Field so long ago, I don't remember when it was. But I remember seeing a lot of games there after that first one.

I remember going to Stan Musial's last away game before he retired. I remember seeing Maury Wills steal two bases in one at bat. I remember seeing Lou Brock play in his first game before he was traded. I remember watching Kenny Holtzman take a no-hitter into the ninth and watched as Maury Wills spoiled it with a single. I remember a lot of games Wrigley Field.

It's been a long time since I watched a game live at Wrigley. Twelve years ago, I spent six weeks in a brownstone only three blocks away from Wrigley. It was during the hottest summer Chicago ever had. Temperatures rose to 105 or more and with the humidity, felt like 125 or more. Coming from a desert climate, I could take the heat, but that humidity I couldn't. More than 500 people passed away during the heat spell.

One day when the Cubs were in town, I decided I would walk up to Wrigley, buy myself a ticket and watch a game. I never made it. I got halfway there and the heat and humidity had drained me. I stopped in at a bar I passed by and since they were showing the game, I ordered myself a Fosters, leaned back in booth I was sitting in and enjoyed not only the game, but the beautiful waitress taking care of the area I was sitting. The Cubs lost the game, but I didn't care. Cubs fans get over losses quickly. It's simple...there's always tomorrow in their mind.

Earlier this evening, I watched a movie called Fever Pitch. The male lead in the movie was an out-of-the-envelope Boston Red Sox fan. His apartment was wall-to-wall Red Sox. I've seen that before in other sports fans. They let anyone and everyone know who they root for. Walk into my place, and you'd wonder if I was a sports fan of anything. Hanging on my wall is a laminated poster a friend gave me back around 1988. It's an outrageous depiction of a Cubs game in Wrigley Field. Look closely and you'll see Dorothy and Toto...the Tinman and Scarecrow...Waldo...and many other characters. I'm sure the Cowardly Lion is in the crowd somewhere, but I haven't found him yet.

And on top of my desk you'll see a Jimmie Johnson pad of paper.

That's it. Two of the three sports I really enjoy...baseball and NASCAR racing. The third sport is air racing, especially the Red Bull World Series of Air Racing. I don't have a particular favorite pilot, but if I did, I think it would be Peter "The Hungarian" Besenyei.

What about other sports, you ask? There aren't any other sports in my mind. Everything else is a timed competition...football - 60 minutes; basketball - 48 minutes; ice hockey - 60 minutes...and other so-called sporting events. Baseball and racing...those are sports.

A baseball game can theoretically last forever. As long as the home team ties the game in the bottom of the inning, it goes on. It's a team sport where nine players do their best to overcome the capabilities of nine other players. There is no clock for the teams to watch, and use...just a scoreboard. And to top it all off, the offense is one person facing nine others with a wooden stick...so to speak. There could be as many as three more offensive players involved, but the main thrust is the one man in the box waiting for the pitch. The team will live or die by his actions. Now that's a sporting competition. The goal, of course, is to win the game.

Racing, though not really "timed," does have specific goal. That goal is to be the first person across the finish line at the end of a set amount of laps around the track. For the most part, the only time a clock comes in to play is when a driver goes to his (or her) pit for fueling or fixing bad parts. A clock is also used to check how fast a driver is going, but that information has very little to do with the actual race. Auto racing is another sport where one team does their best to overcome the capabilities of another team. A pit crew can win or lose for a driver just as easily as a driver can win or lose the race himself. It's the driver's skill in negotiating his vehicle around the track, combined with the pit crew's ability to quickly refuel, change tires and in some cases, make minor adjustments to the vehicle, that make a winner. And if either one is not at the top of their game, someone else will cross the finish line first.

Red Bull Air Racing also uses a clock. But it pits each pilot against each other using the clock as a means to determine the best. In previous years, eight pilots would qualify to fly the final day and each one would be put up against the seven other pilots. When all qualifying pilots have flown their final time around the course, the one with the best would be the winner. This year is a bit different. The pilots with the eight best qualifying times are in the final day of racing. Based on their times in their final qualifying run, they are seeded against each other. The fastest pilot is seeded against the eighth fastest, the second fastest against the seventh and so on. As each seeded race in finished, the pilot with the fastest time goes on to the next level. In the final race, it's the two pilots with the best times in their previous races against each other for the top spot on the podium. It's skill versus skill in the end.

I haven't been to the Reno Air Races, but I have seen the race on television. It's the pilot's ability for the most part which wins the race, but the people behind the scene who fix the aircraft, tune the engine, wax the surfaces and generally make sure the bird is ready to fly at it's peak performance have a lot to do with it also. There, heat races are held with a number of aircraft flying a circuit with the first to cross the finish line advancing and in the end, winning.

Those are real sports in my eyes. They get my blood pumping and my heart pounding. Not football or any of the other timed competitions. If one team gets ahead and the clock is close to the end, there is very little chance for the other team to win. Not like in baseball where the home team could go to their final inning on offense 12 runs behind the other team and still win the game.

Look at it this way...there are nine innings in each baseball game. Divide that into the 60 minutes of a football game and you get just over six and a half minutes. Take those minutes and divide it in half again and you get just under three and a half. This represents the time in football equal to one team's offensive action in baseball...or a half inning. In those roughly three and a half minutes, might be able to score a game tying or game winning touchdown...they might even be able to score two touchdowns to win the game. But it would be very difficult for them to score 12 times in those three or so minutes if they have to give the other team a chance after they score. The team which is ahead will always have the advantage in a timed event when the clock is close to the finish line.

Not so in baseball and not so in racing. It is skill and ability from beginning to end.

I know some will argue that those limitations were fixed with play clocks and the like, but those only make sure an offensive play is run quickly. Get to 23 seconds on the clock in a football and basically the game is over. The team ahead and with the ball only need "spike" the ball and everyone is walking on the field congratulating each other while the clock is clicking down the final seconds. Basketball games, some will argue, have been won "at the buzzer," but that only happens when the "winning" team works the clock in their favor to place them in the position to win the game if the buzzer beating shot goes through the hoop.

Don't get me wrong here...football players, basketball players, hockey players and all the other timed competition team members are great athletes. They have to be, to do what they do. But what they do just doesn't thrill me as much as the home team coming from 12 runs down in the bottom of the ninth to win the game, or a home team batter hitting a walk-off homerun in the bottom of the 22nd inning to win game. Nor does it thrill me as much as watching two drivers side-by-side heading towards the finish line and one of them winning by two thousandth of a second, or watching one pilot fly three hundredths of a second faster than another pilot over a closed course. Those are exciting.

Payton Manning tossing a "Hail Mary" pass in the final seconds of a football game in the hopes his team will win, just doesn't thrill me at all.

And Who Is That?

2007-10-19T20:21:00.000-07:00

It has been a long time since I last added to this blog. For those wondering, it had nothing to do with the defeat of the Chicago Cubs by the Arizona Diamondbacks. Really...it didn't.

I spent most of the time between the Cubs defeat and now taking care of my sister's place and animals while they were in Europe. I don't like their keyboard, so I didn't do much typing there. But something came up in a conversation last night and I thought I would expand on it here.

I mentioned to an online friend that I had met a number of famous people during my military career. Most of the people I met were down-to-earth folk who just happened to make a lot more money than me, doing something I couldn't do. And some of them were arrogant idiots watching the clock, waiting for the moment they could leave and get on with their lives.

I may have met 12-15 people who would be easily recognized by the world. There may have been more, but this blog is about three particular people.

The first one who stands out in my mind is Bob Hope.

I met him in 1985 at Elmendorf AFB just outside of Anchorage, Alaska. Bob loved the play golf and he really liked the course at Elmendorf. During a stopover in the Anchorage area, he came to the base to play a round of golf. My boss at the time, tagged me with being his escort while on the base. I had no problem with the tasking and met Hope's party at the clubhouse for the course. As we walked out to the first tee box, a group of admiring fans had already gathered and were waiting for Bob to appear. There was a round of applause, which Mr. Hope acknowledged as he approached the tee.

I was leading the way through the crowd for him and when we got the tee, he and other three people in his group teed up and sent their first shots down the fairway. Bob had told them what to expect on the first hole, which I believe was a dog-leg to the right. When it was Bob's turn, he setup, went into his swing and let loose with a nice drive down the center of the fairway, placing the ball in perfect position for an approach to the green. He then turned to fans, did his "Ho-hum" routine, winked at me with a smile and headed towards his second shot, swinging his club in his hand as he walked the course.

His game was cut short after the third hole due to weather, but he seemed to enjoy the short game he had.

Prior to Bob Hope teeing off at the first hole, my boss pulled out his camera and took a shot of me and Mr. Hope. It's one of the few photos of me I really like, and having the late Bob Hope standing next to me makes it somewhat special to me.

See the photo of Bob Hope and me here.

The second person who comes to mind is Dean Paul Martin. He was the son of Dean Martin (if you don't know who he is, google him) and had joined the Air Force Reserves to become a pilot. After he received his commission, he was assigned to Undergraduate Pilot Training at Columbus AFB, Mississippi. I happened to have been stationed there in the Public Affairs Office at the time.

When he arrived for training, myself, my boss, the base commander and deputy wing commander got together with him to discuss how we would handle his time on base. Lt. Martin said he didn't want any preferential treatment (and he got none, graduating somewhere around the 70 percent group). I then asked him how he wanted to handle any publicity. His response was, "Do what you would normally do." Well, we wanted to publicize his training and he and I agreed that I would arrange photo sessions and interviews of him during milestone events of his training and that I would be the releasing authority for anything regarding him and the Air Force. His publicity people agreed, as long as they were provided with copies of all photos (released and non-released images) and news releases for each event.

So, as time progressed for Lt. Martin's training, I would get a phone call about an upcoming event, and when it happened, I would be there with notebook and photographer. One of the things which was previously agreed on, was no outside media coverage other than what I released, would happen with him. At the time, I was in good favor with the local media and had asked them to not ask for time with Lt. Martin unless I offered the time. They agreed and left him alone to concentrate on training.

On the day of his first solo flight in a jet aircraft, his girl friend at the time, arrived to watch. She was Dorothy Hamill, the gold medal winning figure skater from the 1976 Olympics. I had gone to the compulsory events in Innsbruck, Austria when I was stationed at Aviano AB, Italy and had seen Dorothy skate in those events. It was really cool to be able to meet her.

I arrived about 30 minutes before Lt. Martin was scheduled to take-off and he introduced me to Dorothy and I was able to chat with her for several minutes. The one thing I remember from that meeting was her legs. They were the most powerful looking appendages I had ever seen! Talking to her was great and she made me feel like a friend whom she had known for a long time. I was able to get some good shots and good quotes for a news release and things went back to normal for me until just before Lt. Martin's graduation.

He asked to meet with me prior to graduation regarding his family and friends who would be attending the ceremony. We also discussed holding a press conference before the ceremony, so the news media could have some live time with him. During that discussion, Lt. Martin mentioned to me that he had asked Dorothy to marry him and she had said yes. He wanted to know if he should say something about it during the press conference. I told him it was up to him and then he told me I was one of the first people outside of family and friends he had told. Well, the local media all showed up for the conference, they got answers to their questions and a couple of days later, it was graduation time.

On that day, our office was inundated with requests for photographers and video crews from all over to attend the ceremonies. After a request from Lt. Martin, no media were being invited to the ceremony and I was passing that on to each requester. It wasn't until the National Enquirer called and wanted to send out a photographer to get a photo, that things got weird. I told the editor (whose name I won't mention here) that I would be releasing photos of the graduation the following day and he said it wasn't good enough. He threatened to send a photographer anyway, because there was nothing I could do to stop him. At that point, I informed him if I caught anyone representing his paper on the base, I would have them arrested and detained. I also told him the base was a close area to civilians and any unauthorized people coming on base would be violation of federal laws. He didn't like that, and threatened to ruin my career and other strange things. When he finished with his rant, he hung up.

About 20 minutes later, I got a phone call from one of the photographers of a local newspaper asking if he could come on base to photograph Dean Paul Martin's graduation. I told him it was a close ceremony and he said, "Well, there goes $2,000." I asked him if he had been contacted by the National Inquirer and he said he had. I felt bad about telling him no and him loosing out on $2,000, but I also felt good about the fact that this person had an open pass to the base (several of the local media had passes which allowed them access to the base without me being required to escort them) and still asked me and honored my request not to photograph the ceremony.

Several years later, I was saddened by the news that Lt. Martin and another person had died in an aircraft accident.

Then there was Billy Joel.

The entertainer's arrival at Clark AB was a surprise to my office. It was probably a surprise to a lot of people, but the office I worked in was one of the few offices which needed to know things like famous people coming to the base. One reason for that was, the Public Affairs Office (PA) was the only office authorized to setup tours of the base and a few other things.

Well, all the offices on Clark knew that. And the fact that the PA shop was assigned under a higher headquarters on base than any other wing office (we were assigned to a numbered Air Force...13th Air Force to be exact) made some of the other offices a little jealous, I think. But that morning at the wing staff meeting, the Morale, Welfare and Recreation officer stood up and announced that Billy Joel would be arriving on base within the hour. He also announced that Joel would give a USO sponsored concert for all the base people that evening and in the meantime, he would be provided a tour of the base. This was news to my boss and a heated exchange ensued between my boss and the MWR representatives.

When the wing staff meeting completed, my boss came back and headed directly to my office. "Bear...Billy Joel is arriving on base in 35 minutes. Meet up with the party at the MAC terminal and represent PA during the tour Wing has setup. If they have any problems, fix 'em." And he was gone. I grabbed my gear, took a taxi to the terminal and told the waiting party I was the PA rep for the tour. I got a few sneers from some of the base officials waiting for the arrival. But my job was, my job, and I was going to do it.

When Billy Joel arrived, I did what I normally do, I stood in the background and made sure nothing out of the ordinary was going to happen, and waiting for the fire to put out (which never came). The group went to a variety of workshops around the flightline and then headed to the local AFRTS station (the on-base Armed Forces Radio and Television Service station). While the group toured the station and Billy Joel was interviewed by one of the television reporters, I had gone into the wire service room to check what was going on in the world. You see, the date was January 16, 1991, the day before the start of Gulf War I. As I looked over the wire reports, one caught my eye. It talked about the assassination of body guards of Yassir Arafat. I quickly read it, then stuffed it in my pocket to give to my boss later.

When Billy Joel finished his interview, it was off to the dining hall for lunch. After giving him time to talk to some of the folks working in the dining hall, food was served and I sat down with members of the Joel party (Billy was with the brass of course, along with his manager and some of the band members). We talked about what was going on in Kuwait and all during the meal and at one point, I mentioned what I read in the news release. As soon as he heard what I said, a Joel party member called to Billy and motioned for him to come to our table. When he arrived, the guy told me to show Billy the news report. I did, and he quietly read it, then looked at me and asked, "What do you think this means?" For the next 15 minutes we discussed the report and then it was time to go elsewhere.

Since the group had to have time to setup their gear for the concert, the final place to visit was set for right after lunch. The wing operations people had arranged for two of the base aircraft to be available for Billy Joel and his group to get a close look at. They were F-4E and F-4G Phantom II fighters. Earlier, I had contacted my boss and asked him if he could rush through an orientation flight request. He tried, but was unsuccessful due to the time differences and red tape we had to go through to arrange one. When Joel climbed into the cockpit of the E model F-4, I climbed the ladder on the other side and the first thing he asked me was, "Can I get a ride?" I apologized to him that I was unable to arrange it in such short notice, and stared at the man who kept Billy Joel's arrival a secret to my office while I said it. That captain got my point.

The party then went to the departure end of the runway to watch aircraft take off. Clark AB at the time, was hosting a Cope Thunder exercise. The exercise was designed to give pilots a realistic training environment for an armed conflict. We had a bombing range with "smokey SAM" which imitated surface-to-air missiles, and an area where mock dogfights using hi-tech gear to determine the victor was used. The exercise participants were broken into Red and Blue forces with missions for each force.

When the two vans carrying the Joel party stopped, the only person to get out of the lead van was Billy Joel himself. I was in the other van and decided I would get out and answer any questions he had. There we were, the two of us standing 30 feet away from F-16s (exercise participants from other bases) taking off for their missions. Each aircraft taking off was part of a ground strike package as evident by the 25 and 50 pound practice bombs on the wings. As each pilot pulled up to take-off position, they would each turn, look our way, and salute. Billy Joel returned each salute, though I am not sure the pilots were saluting him (which is most likely) or saluting the staff vehicle we were standing next to. Either way, Billy Joel watched a half dozen or so aircraft depart. Then, during a quiet moment (quieter than they had been), he turned to me and over the noise of the active runway pointed to an aircraft taxiing up and said, "Sarge...this is why we are going to kick Saddam's ASS!" He emphasized the last word. We looked each other straight in the eye and we both smiled. And then, with a short beep of the horn of the lead vehicle, he got in his van and I got in mine.

Back at the stadium where the group was let out to finalize setup, Billy Joel walked over to me, shook my hand and thanked me. He then asked if I was going to the concert. I told him I wouldn't miss it for anything.

That evening, I listened to Billy Joel's Storm Front concert, courtesy of the USO, knowing war was around the corner.

The next morning, Joel and his group departed for Subic Bay Naval Station about 50 miles from Clark. He was giving his concert there when the first aircraft took off in Saudi Arabia for targets in Iraq.

Those are my most memorable meetings with the famous folks. Most of those meetings were in an official capacity due to my job in the Air Force. Good or bad, they were all something to remember.

Red Moon Risen?

2007-10-04T15:05:00.000-07:00

Fifty years ago, the world woke to something they hadn't seen before.

It was the first artificial satellite orbiting the globe.

Yes, it was a Soviet achievement, and yes, it struck fear in a lot of people, but it was in reality, the beginning of a lot of Soviet space firsts in what would later become known as the Space Race. But that isn't what I want to talk about.

I remember going out in my backyard in a then, unincorporated area just south of Chicago, and watching Sputnik 1 pass overhead. To this day, I recall the look of that lighted object as it grew bright, then fade a bit, only to grow bright again, as it passed by. But I was too young to understand the effect it had on everyone.

I didn't understand it at all. But it did light a fire in me regarding space. I remember wanting to get a ride in that Sputnik. But I didn't know the object wasn't even two feet in diameter (23 inches to be exact). All I knew is that it was way, way up there.

Months later, I remember watching the US attempt to put a satellite in space. It blew up and I knew I would never get a ride in that satellite. But it still instilled in me, a desire to learn about space, about the stars, the planets, the sun, the moon and everything else "up there." That desire soon developed into a passion for astronomy. I even had an astronomer I considered my hero...Clyde Tombaugh. He discovered Pluto, and I don't care what that idiot at the Hayden Planetarium in New York thinks, Pluto is STILL a planet to me. Tombaugh must be rolling over in his grave knowing what his peers of today have done to his discovery.

After that failed US attempt to put a satellite in orbit, I thought of nothing else but space. My desire to learn other things, such as the basic subjects folks learn in school, suffered. But if you had a question about space, I had an answer...right or wrong, I had an answer.

Today, I still have a passion for space...I still want to ride one of those orbiting objects, and I still enjoy watching the night sky for moving objects, be they meteors, satellite, space stations or the occasional unidentified object. Sputnik instilled this passion in me.

Yesterday, I watched an interview with an author of a book called "Red Moon Rising." I haven't read the book, but the author didn't do a good job of selling his book to me and making me want to read it. According to him in this interview, Sputnik was directly responsible for our space program, directly responsible for cable, directly responsible for the internet, directly responsible for a lot of things. All I have to say about that is this: BULL HOCKEY PUCK!

We were working on our own satellite at the time Sputnik reached the heavens. All Sputnik did, was make us realize we weren't going to be first. It was almost four months later when Explorer 1 entered orbit. It was the United States' first artificial satellite. It was something we had been working on for years. Sputnik 1 was not directly responsible for it. The US didn't wake up the morning of Oct. 4, 1957 and look up at Sputnik and collectively say, "Wait a minute! The Soviets put an object in orbit? We need to get an object in orbit also! Pete...you design a satellite, Tom...you figure out something to put inside it. Dave, you and Dan design a rocket to send it up there. Arthur...you and I will look for somewhere to launch it from. Okay people...let's DO THIS THING!!"

No...the people in the US working on their free world's version of an artificial moon, probably looked at each other with saddened eyes, waited for the butterflies in stomach to stop fluttering around, and said, "We can still do this thing, people." And back to work they went, knowing they were to place second.

Everything which has been accomplished since Sputnik 1 was launched into orbit, was something which came about because of man's desire to explore. Sputnik might have lit a fire under some people to finish things they were working on, or inspire a young person to get into the aerospace industry. But had the US been the first to launch a satellite into orbit, I believe today's world would still be what it is today.

To say everything which has been invented, which has made life easier, or better, for everyone, which helps folks relax after a long, hard day, is directly linked to Sputnik, is in my opinion, doing an absolute disservice to the men and women who had an idea, worked on it, and watched it develop into what it is today.

Our lifestyle today is a direct result of what those people did...not some hunk of Soviet metal that orbited the Earth, sending out a beep-beep signal for 22 days, only to disintegrate while reentering the atmosphere three months after launch.

I don't want to take anything away from the Soviet scientists and engineers of the time. It was a great accomplishment and one they can be proud of. And although it put the fear of nuclear annihilation from space into the minds of a lot of people in the Western world, it didn't give the world something to replace their telephones, nor something to allow a person to carry a calculator in his pocket, nor something to make postage stamps obsolete. It gave back absolutely nothing.

Sputnik 1 was first out of the gate for the Space Race...that is all.

Life's a Handful...

2007-10-03T15:33:00.000-07:00

I am typing this blog with an injured hand. You see, I did a very dumb thing early this morning...well, actually a couple of really dumb things.

First, I put my spare batteries on the charger so they would have a full charge when I went out on a photo safari today. Second, I let the dog out (which I have always done in the morning), but did so before he had a chance to eat (which is inside the house). It wasn't intentional, it just happened. I fed the horses and the cat and the dog, but Rosco (the dog) was so glad to see me this morning, he followed me on every step I took and when I went out to feed the horses, he naturally followed me outside.

Well, when I finished the outside chores, I came back in to gather my things and got ready to go on my safari. And even though Rosco wanted to follow me into the house, I told him to stay outside. When I was ready, I climbed into the rig, backed out of the garage and headed off.

I went eastward at first, to see if any Rough-legged Hawks were around to photograph. And although I saw a couple they were too far away to get any good shots. Since I was close to Prineville (somewhere I used to live), I thought I would stop and say hi to folks there I hadn't seen in a while. At one of the stops, I was told I should go see a friend's daughter, and that she would love to see me. So after getting directions, I headed that way. But I never got to the daughter's place....well, maybe I did, but the directions I got were so bad, I had no idea which building or which place (or even if I was in the right place) her daughter lived, so I turned around and headed to one of my main areas of interest for some photography.

When I arrived at the Ochoco Reservoir, I gathered my camera and headed towards the waterline to check on the shore birds. There were a number of birds there, most of which I have yet to photograph. So I started to move toward a good group and a Great Blue Heron caught my eye. I turned, fired off five shots and my camera froze on me. Actually, it just stopped working. This had happened before and I knew the problem...the batteries were dead.

I headed back to the rig, reached for the fanny pack I keep my spare stuff in and suddenly realized that the spare batteries I was about to get weren't where they were suppose to be. They were still on the charger here at the house. DUH!!!!! So, after kicking myself several times, I got back in the rig and headed out of town. At this point, I was so angry with myself, I blew off going back to another friend's place, didn't stop to clarify directions to the daughter's place, and didn't notice the poorly marked change in traffic flow at a construction site.

Lucky for me, when I did notice my error, I was able to swing back to where I was suppose to be before anyone came from the opposite direction, but the folks behind me must have wondered what kind of yahoo was driving that Jeep Cherokee. By the time I got back here to the house, I was really angry at myself. So I decide I would grab my fully charged batteries and head back out to shoot some photos somewhere. However, I remembered Rosco and figured I would keep up his spirits a little and play a game of catch, or fetch, with him.

For those who don't know, Rosco is like a 120 pound baby. Actually, he's a BIG Pit Bull and one of the best dogs I have ever been around. He isn't mine (he belongs to my sister's family), but I know he'd take a bullet for me. I'm one of his favorite people...or so I thought.

When I walked into the backyard to see Rosco, he was on the far side of the yard. The moment he saw me, he headed straight for me at full speed. I figured out a moment to late what he was going to do. He leaped off the porch and hit me square in the chest, knocked me flat on my ass and had his tongue covering my face before I could react. After catching my breath, I rolled over, got to my feet and reached for the hard rubber toy I had been tossing around for Rosco to run, get and bring back to me and as I went to toss it, Rosco figured he would get a jump on the fetch part and leaped again. This time, he headed straight for the object in my hand.

He grabbed it before I could release it. Unfortunately, he grabbed something else...my hand. He realized what he had done as soon as he did it, but the damage was already done. His powerful jaws had come down on my hand just inside the area of the right thumb. He let go as soon as he could, and slinked away knowing he was a bad dog. I naturally, jerked my hand away from the pain, and luckily did so just a split second after Rosco had released his jaws, which saved me from pulling my hand out through his teeth.

I grabbed my aching hand, winced in pain and looked for Rosco. He was laying down near the back door of the house, ears back and tail still tucked between his legs. I walked over to him and he naturally went into a submissive mood and when I scratched him behind his ear and said he was a good dog, he jumped up and once again, began inhaling my face with his tongue.

That happened two hours ago, and the hand still hurts. Typing this isn't helping it, but at least I can move (more or less) all my appendages. There is swelling and a very sore spot about an inch above the wrist. But overall, I was lucky.

Rosco didn't mean to get my hand...all he wanted to do was play and he got a little over anxious. And, it wasn't the first time a dog my sister's family owned missed something and got me.

Years ago, I came home on leave and found my mom visiting my sister when I arrived. Since I had been gone several years, they were making me a dinner in the house. I had gone out to the backyard to see Brutus, my sister's beautiful Staffordshire Terrier (Pit Bull in other words). After he welcomed me back (in the typical fashion Pit Bulls welcome me), he brought over a rope he liked to play tug-of-war with. I think he played that because he knew he could win every time...well, almost every time.

We both started pulling and I was yanking and pulling as hard as I could, when Brutus decide he wanted to better grip on the rope. So he loosened his grip at the same time I gave the rope a yank. His end of the rope went flying out of his mouth and directly towards my crotch. Again, I realized what was going to happen a moment to late. Brutus lunged for the rope, mouth opened wide, headed straight for my family jewels.

And he got them...and the rope.

I was suddenly in so much pain, I fell backwards with my hands covering the source of the pain and rocked back and forth. And then I saw my mom looking out the kitchen window. She had seen the entire incident and was laughing. I got up, slightly bent over, and headed into the house. When I got to the kitchen, my mom said, "I sure wish I had had a video camera. We could split $10,000!" At that time, America's Funniest Home Videos was not in reruns, and I am sure my fun in the sun with the dog would have made the show, if not taken the prize for that episode.

But there was no way I was going to play tug-of-war with Brutus for a long time.

Well, the incident with Brutus is long over, but it was the first thing that flashed through my mind when I saw Rosco leaping for the hard rubber toy.

I don't think anything is broken, but my hand does hurt. I'll keep an eye on it for now, and keep it away from Rosco.

The worst part of it is the hand Rosco clipped, is the hand I hold I my camera with.

I just wonder if it wasn't revenge for leaving him alone in the backyard for long...without food.

Oh...he gobbled down his food and I even gave him a new chew toy. Hopefully he won't want to go leaping at me for a while.

Cubs Win! Cubs Win!

2007-09-28T23:26:00.000-07:00

The Chicago Cubs are in the playoffs. They beat the Reds today while the Padres beat the Brewers...and that was all it took.

Dummy me, however, was under the impression the Cubs magic number was three and not two and that Saturday's televised game between the Cubs and Reds would be the party event of the baseball season for me. But it won't be. Instead, while the Cubs were winning their way to the Central Division title of the National League, I was watering horses and watching the snow fall on nearby hills. By the time I came in and went to the computer to check the score, the Cubs had won and saw that they had clinched. I then looked at the Brewers score already knowing they lost. It was still a good moment in time.

Cubs Win! Cubs Win!

Now to see them in the World Series along with the Cleveland Indians. That will be a series worth watching.

Saturday's ballgame will still be good to watch. I rarely see any of the Cubs games where I live. After all, how many people in central Oregon care what a Chicago ball team is doing? That is quit evident when the on the news around here, the sports announcer gives the final score to every game except that of the Cubs. I even met one in Texas in April and let him have it. He knows there is at least one Cubs fan in central Oregon. But they still don't give the Cubs scores.

Maybe now they will.

And to celebrate the title, tomorrow I will treat myself to some Spicy Roll Shrimp Sushi and a beer.

But the weekend games still mean something to the Cubs. They don't know who the first team they will face in the playoffs will be. That should be decided this weekend.

Oh...and the pitcher who beat the Padres: well it was Greg Maddux. Maddux started his career with the Cubs in 1985, was traded to Atlanta years later, went back to the Cubs a couple of years ago and ended up with Padres.

It's fitting then, that Maddux helped the Cubs to title.

When is Autumn?

2007-09-24T22:05:00.000-07:00

Winter is coming to the high desert.

I say that not because summer is over, but because the winter critters of the high desert are starting to move to their wintering grounds in town.

Today while out on safari, I saw and heard a number Townsend's Solitaires on the tops of trees. These birds come to town in the winter. During the summer, they spend a lot of their time in badland areas (areas of scrub, sage and juniper found anywhere outside of towns in the area of where I live).

Something else I noticed was only one butterfly, one dragonfly and few bees. There were a lot of Honey Bees around, but when I say bees, I mean those big, gorgeous Bumble Bee type bees. The last time I passed through the area I went to today, I noticed several large, and I do mean large, Bumble Bees I wanted to photograph. But I didn't have my camera with me that day. Today I did, and of course, I didn't see the bugs. But I didn't see many bugs and I like shooting bugs.

I can only assume the week or so of below freezing temps we have had here lately has taken a toll on the wildlife...mostly the small stuff that flies around. I did notice a Common Raven nest I hadn't seen before and was about to take a photo of it with a couple of birds nearby, when I saw a Steller's Jay. I have only one photo of a Steller's Jay and figured I could go back to the raven nest. I probably would have had I not spaced it entirely.

But I chased after the jay hoping to get a shot of it and it led me to the northern end of the Dry Canyon...and I still couldn't get a shot of it. The bird constantly stayed far enough ahead of me and in the trees making a good shot almost impossible. But after wandering around trying to get close, I gave up and headed back to my bicycle. Just as I mounted my "Specialized" beast, I saw a lizard moving.

It was a young Western Fence Lizard and it wasn't more than six feet away from me. So I brought out the camera and began shooting. I have seen (and photographed) a lot of lizards lately. But I don't care. All the shots are cool (in my opinion). Besides, lately they have been almost all I have found to shoot.

But back to what's coming. One thing I haven't seen yet, is snow in the mountains. That's a sure fire indication of winter here...and probably anywhere mountains and snows meet. I remember when I was stationed in Alaska at Elmendorf AFB outside of Anchorage, you could literally watch winter come down on you.

Elmendorf had mountains to the east...the Chugach Mountains, the northern part of a series of coastal ranges in the northwest. When the first snows would come, it normally blanketed the top portions of the mountains. Days later, another snowfall would drop the snow line lower. As more snowfall came, the line lowered and lowered until it met the ground and snow was everywhere. Then, everyone knew winter had come to Anchorage, Alaska.

It's not that easy here. Snow falls in the mountains, but normally when it does, it blankets the slopes. And it continues to blanket the slopes. Sometimes it will spread to the 3,000 foot level where I live and blanket the ground, but not often (knock on wood). Last winter I think we got less than two inches the entire season. However, four or five years ago, we got something like 60 inches, with several storms dumping 18 inches each.

Generally when the first snows fall in the mountains, the birds which live high in the ranges, move down to the valleys and towns of central Oregon. The most prominent of these birds is the Dark-eyed Junco. They come down after the first flakes fall so regularly, that they are called Snow Birds by the locals. But I haven't seen one of them yet.

But the lack of insects to photograph is a sure sign change that seasonal change is coming. And when that happens, I am going to miss summer. You see, I love the heat of the high desert. The hotter the better.

And believe me, I'll be waiting for the summer of 2008.

Good Days Coming...I Hope

2007-09-24T13:36:00.000-07:00

This weekend, a friend of mine was very happy. Her Cleveland Indians clinched the American League Central Division. It's been since 2001 that the Indians have gone on past the end of regular season play.

My team is still contesting their berth in the playoffs. The lovable Chicago Cubs are sitting with a magic number of 4 right now. They were on fire over the weekend, sweeping the Pittsburgh Pirates at home and belting a crap-load of home runs.

Not long ago, I mentioned to my friend that it would be nice to see the Cubs and Indians in the World Series. It will really test our friendship...hehehe. Lucky for us, we are a couple of thousands of miles apart, so tossing things at each other will not be possible.

Funny thing about the Cubs, they have fans across the country. Fair weather fans for the most part. Me? I'm a die-hard Cubs fan, having been a fan since either the late 50s or early 60s...can't exactly remember when the Cubs bug hit me.

I was rooting for the Cubs when they were perennial cellar dwellers. I rooted for the Cubs when everyone around me (south side of Chicago) were die-hard White Sox fans. I have been a Cubs fan for so long, I remember when the Chicago Cardinals football team played in Wrigley Field before they move to St. Louis.

I can recall the '69 season. A couple of times during that year, I skipped school and took the CTA to Wrigley, got me a $1 bleacher ticket and joined the Right Field Bleacher Bums. I wasn't a regular bleacher bum, but I did have my share of moments there. When in September of that year, the New York Mets came to town to face the first place Cubs, I was at the second game. Little did I know at the time that the series with the Mets would be a turning point that would send the Cubs spiraling out of first, and vaulting the Mets to the top spot. But it happened and at the end of the season, I was still a Cubs fan.

It was 15 years before the Cubs were to see light at the playoffs at the end of the regular season. I was in Alaska then. On Wednesday afternoons, I would wait at the golf course clubhouse on base for 1 pm to chime, at which time I would head out to a bus full of people wanting a tour of Elmendorf AFB. While I waited, I would watch the Cubs play if the game was still on. Sometimes, when I got on the bus, I would ask if any were Cubs fans and then relay the score at the time I departed.

Then came a game in Pittsburgh which, if the Cubs won, they would go on to the playoffs. I sat in my boss' office, while he and I watched the game. Near the end of the game, several co-workers came in and asked if I could give them a ride to the barracks. I knew the game would be on in the dayroom there, so I left with them. When I got to the dayroom, it was the bottom of the ninth, the Pirates had one out and the Cubs were ahead. I sat down in one of the chairs, and watched. Then with two out and a 2-2 count on the batter, I watched as he swung and missed the next pitch. The Cubs were in the playoffs!

They went on to win the first two games in Wrigley Field against the San Diego Padres and needed one more win to go to the World Series. They ended up losing three straight in San Diego and the Padres went to the series. They lost in five games to the Detroit Tigers.

Then came 1989. Then Cubs were again in the playoffs. They didn't make the world series that year. It was the Oakland Athletics and the San Fransisco Giants in the earthquake extended Bay Area World Series. Then again in 1998, the Cubs were in the playoffs. But they were defeated by the Atlanta Braves in the first round.

However, 2003 was the year...the year the Cubs were to go to the World Series. But, they didn't. They were playing the Florida Marlins for the National League title and the right to go to the World Series. They were playing at home and the catch which wasn't made, was made. Every Cubs fan remembers that play. A pop-up to the foul side of left field, the fielder going over to make the grab and end the inning and then...a fan reaches up, catches the ball and instead of an out, it was nothing more than a foul ball. The Marlins went on to take the title and beat the New York Yankees in the World Series.

The worst part of that foul ball was the fan who caught the ball wasn't a Marlins fan...he was a Cubs fan...and he will never live that catch down...not as long as he's in Chicago at least.

It's four years later and the Cubs are looking like a contender for the crown. They have a long road to travel still, but they can do it. The team has a good leader who has led a number of teams to the victory.

But win or lose, you can bet on one thing...this die-hard Cubs fan will be looking forward to next season...and will still be cussing out Fox Saturday baseball or ESPN when they don't show a Cubs game here when everyone else is seeing it.

Go Cubbies!!!!!!!!

To Live and Let Live

2007-09-21T21:03:00.000-07:00

I love where I live.

And believe me, that's an accurate statement.

I spent 22 years, two months and two days in the U.S. Air Force, lived or visited throughout the world and nothing, and I do mean nothing, beats central Oregon.

It has everything I enjoy.

The summers days are hot. There are normally numerous days in triple digits...but with the heat comes low humidity. Several years ago, I went out for a bicycle ride. It was 104 degrees that afternoon and I rode for about 12 miles. When I got home, I was tired, but my T-shirt was dry as an old bone. A look at the local humidity told the story...it was at six percent.

The summer nights are cool. Temperature swings from day to night can be more than 60 degrees. Though I love sleeping on cool a night, I also enjoy laying out at night, watching meteor showers. To do that, I need to bundle up somewhat on the nights of my favorite show in mid-August. And the fact that the night skies are still dark enough for me to setup in my backyard to enjoy the spectacle, makes it even better.

Autumns here are nice. The days are warm for the most part and nights cool. Towards the end of the season, the weather appears more like winter than autumn, but even then, it's not all that bad.

Winters can be full of snow and cold, or snowless and warm. Twelve years or so ago, my nephew visited me in January. His birthday is at the end of the month and he made the comment to me on that day, that it was the first birthday he has had which didn't have snow on the ground. We had an El Nino winter that year and the days were 60 degrees or so and the nights 30 or thereabout. A very comfortable winter it was.

The spring time in central Oregon is really where things get fun. We can have snow, sleet, freezing rain, sunshine and 70 degree temps all on the same day. It's fun and very enjoyable. However, we don't have many storms in my area. I sit in a sort of protected spot. It's not that we never get storms, it is simply storms have several tracks they can take in this area which two out of three times takes them away from me...and I love storms.

But there is also a lot more this area offers. To the west of me are national forest areas and mountains. During the summer, these areas are great for those who enjoy the outdoors. To the south of me are the volcanic lands, dominated by Newberry National Volcanic Monument, one of my favorite areas on Earth. There are lava flows throughout the area, small cinder cones, large cinder cones and further south of some of these areas, the northern reaches of the great basin.

To my north are the high plateau lands with carved canyons showing signs of countless volcanic eruptions. There is also irrigated farm lands which go on forever it seems. Eastward are more forests, more volcanic terrains and more of the northern reaches of the high desert and great basin.

And in all these areas are lakes, reservoirs, rivers, streams, ponds, grasslands, badlands, hills, canyons, gullies and everything else which makes the great outdoors great for everyone.

And there lies the reason I love where I live. I love going out and photographing the natural world I enjoy so much. The photos on my Flickr photostream from Oregon are primarily from the Redmond area where I live. But there are some photos from areas north and south of me. But for the most part, Redmond is where I live and Redmond is what I photograph.

I'd like to expand my area of operations for photography, and someday I might, but for now, I can still get great shots along the Dry Canyon Trail, or Smith Rock area, or the badlands around the airport, or at Fireman's Pond.

However, there are things about this area which aren't all that great. First of all, the infrastructure was never designed to handle a rapidly growing population. It's slowly improving, but no sooner than one fix is finished, the population growth forces another fix. So road work and construction will be a continuously on-going project.

And then there are the wildfires. Every years brings large wildfires nearby, and a large fire means smoke. Smoke in the air makes breathing difficult, makes eyes burn and itch, gives everything a smoky smell and limits visibility. And in areas near the fires, fears of evacuation and loss of everything is constant threat.

Even with all these problems, for me the good things of the area by far makes central Oregon "God's Country."

And that, my friends, is the reason I love where I live.

2007-09-20T19:38:00.000-07:00

I was reading a blog post of a friend of mine and laughter came over me. Not that I was laughing at the post (it was funny), but I was laughing at what I had done a couple of days earlier.

I had laid back in my Lazyboy and tuned the TV to Fox News Channel to catch up on the news of the day when out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something crawling on my wall. Normally when I see something on my wall, it is a spider. I don't mind spiders, and am not afraid of them, but I refuse to share my living space with them. I figure the great outdoors is big enough for them to find a nice a place to live.

Anyway, I looked at the critter on the wall and realized it was a centipede. My first thought was, where did this creature come from. My second thought was "get a photo" (after all, I love nature photography). Well, I don't like unnatural images, so I figured I would capture the bug, take him outside, release him in an apple tree in the back and take its picture there.

So I got a paper towel, and after a bit of an adventure, I finally got the critter on the towel, folded it in such a way to keep the centipede inside and grabbed my camera. As I moved past my bed (I live in a small studio style apartment) with camera in hand, I felt something on my hand which held the paper towel containing the bug.

A bit of background here is needed. When I was stationed in The Philippines, I found a large centipede on the keyboard of my office computer. I picked it up thinking to toss it outside and when I did, it bit me...and the bite hurt. Then the bite swelled and remained slightly puffy for several days before things got back to normal.

Back to the present and the paper towel.

As soon as I felt whatever it was on my hand, I flashed to the biting centipede in The Philippines and flicked my hand up and away, thinking the centipede had gotten out. I then looked around the area where whatever was on my hand would have landed and saw nothing. Confused about what was on my hand, I tucked my camera under my left arm (my right hand held the towel) and slowly unfolded the paper towel to see if the centipede was still there.

After undoing the third fold, something dark and long came flying out of the towel. It was a blur as it traveled up my left forearm towards my shoulder and parts elsewhere on my body. And I knew what it was...it was the centipede! I again flashed back to the biting centipede in The Philippines and flicked my arm to get the bug off it. Unfortunately, I forgot about my camera.

As soon as my arm moved, I remembered the camera and lifted my left leg, which caught the camera...momentarily...then swung my leg in such a way as to get the camera to fall on the bed. But I wasn't quite nimble enough. I did catch the camera, and I did deflect fall, but it hit the side of the bed and fell heavily onto my right foot. When I am in the house, I wear moccasin style slippers exclusively. They are comfortable to me for wearing but provide very little protection from falling objects, which includes a Canon Digital Rebel with vertical grip and 70-300mm image stabilized telephoto lens.

Seeing the camera now sliding off the corner of the mattress on the bed, headed towards the floor and my exposed foot, I quickly reached down and grabbed the strap, but was a little too late. There was enough slack in the strap for the camera to land squarely on the ridge of the foot, just as I was able to lift it out of the way. And it hurt.

Fearing I would do more damage to either my camera or myself or both, I froze and watched the camera come up and land squarely on the bed and stop there. With the camera safe on the bed, I looked down at my foot, lifted it and rubbed the ridge of it against the calf of my left leg. Pissed at what had just too place, I began to sit down when I remember the centipede.

Bolting back to a standing position while at the same time release my hold on my camera strap, I looked down on my arm and saw nothing. You see, what I described above took about two or three seconds to happen and the centipede should have still been on my arm. Again, I scanned the area the creature would have, or should have landed had the flick of my arm worked to dislodge him, but it wasn't there.

I then began to look elsewhere for the centipede...behind books, under the chest of drawers, behind the TV, on the Lazyboy, on the walls...all to no avail. The centipede was nowhere to be found.

It's been almost two days since all this took place. I have yet to see the centipede again. But I figure being caged inside a paper towel and flicked off a human arm to parts unknown, it decided that life in the world of humans isn't worth the exposure and has gone underground...hopefully there to remain.

But I still don't know what it was on my hand to cause me to flick the first time bringing about the chain of events described above...and probably never will.

As for the camera, it's none the worse for wear, or dropping in this case.

The Comical Life of a Blogger

2007-09-20T11:57:00.000-07:00

I was reading a blog post of a friend of mine and laughter came over me. Not that I was laughing at the post (it was funny), but I was laughing at what I had done a couple of days earlier.

I had laid back in my Lazyboy and tuned the TV to Fox News Channel to catch up on the news of the day when out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something crawling on my wall. Normally when I see something on my wall, it is a spider. I don't mind spiders, and am not afraid of them, but I refuse to share my living space with them. I figure the great outdoors is big enough for them to find a nice a place to live.

Anyway, I looked at the critter on the wall and realized it was a centipede. My first thought was, where did this creature come from. My second thought was "get a photo" (after all, I love nature photography). Well, I don't like unnatural images, so I figured I would capture the bug, take him outside, release him in an apple tree in the back and take its picture there.

So I got paper towel, and after a bit of an adventure, I finally got the critter on the towel, folded it in such a way to keep the centipede inside and grabbed my camera. As I moved past my bed (I live in a small studio style apartment) with camera in hand, I felt something on my hand which held the paper towel containing the bug.

A bit of background here is needed. When I was stationed in The Philippines, I found a large centipede on the keyboard of my office computer. I picked it up thinking to toss it outside and when I did, it bit me...and the bite hurt. Then the bite swelled and remained slightly puffy for several days before things got back to normal.

Back to the present and the paper towel.

As soon as I felt whatever it was on my hand, I flashed to the biting centipede in The Philippines and flicked my hand up and away, thinking the centipede had gotten out. I then looked around the area where whatever was on my hand would have landed and saw nothing. Confused about what was on my hand, I tucked my camera under my left arm (my right hand held the towel) and slowly unfolded the paper towel to see if the centipede was still there.

After undoing the third fold, something dark and long came flying out of the towel. It was a blur as it traveled up my left forearm towards my shoulder and parts elsewhere on my body. And I knew what it was...it was the centipede! I again flashed back to the biting centipede in The Philippines and flicked my arm to get the bug off it. Unfortunately, I forgot about my camera.

As soon as my arm moved, I remembered the camera, lifted my left leg, which caught the camera...momentarily...and swung my leg in such a way as to get the camera to fall on the bed. But I wasn't quite nimble enough. I did catch the camera, and I did deflect fall, but it hit the side of the bed and fell heavily onto my right foot. When I am in the house, I wear moccasin style slippers exclusively. They are comfortable to me for wearing but provide very little protection from falling objects, which includes a Canon Digital Rebel with vertical grip and 70-300mm image stabilized telephoto lens.

Seeing the camera now sliding off the corner of the mattress on the bed, headed towards the floor and my exposed foot, I quickly reached down and grabbed the strap, but was a little too late. There was enough slack in the strap for the camera to land squarely on the ridge of the foot, just as I was able to lift it out of the way. And it hurt.

Fearing I would do more damage to either my camera or myself or both, I froze and watched the camera come up and land squarely on the bed and stop there. With the camera safely on the bed, I looked down at my foot, lifted it and rubbed the ridge of it against the calf of my left leg. Pissed at what had just too place, I began to sit down when I remember the centipede.

Bolting back to a standing position while at the same time release my hold on my camera strap, I looked down on my arm and saw nothing. You see, what I described above took about two or three seconds to happen and the centipede should have still been on my arm. Again, I scanned the area the creature would have, or should have landed had the flick of my arm worked to dislodge him, but it wasn't there.

I then began to look elsewhere for the centipede...behind books, under the chest of drawers, behind the TV, on the Lazyboy, on the walls...all to no avail. The centipede was nowhere to be found.

It's been almost two days since all this took place. I have yet to see the centipede again. But I figure being caged inside a paper towel and flicked off a human arm to parts unknown, it decided that life in the world of humans isn't worth the exposure and has gone underground...hopefully there to remain.

But I still don't know what it was on my hand to cause me to flick the first time bringing about the chain of events described above...and probably never will.

As for the camera, it's none the worse for wear, or dropping in this case.

2007-09-18T00:37:00.000-07:00

A little more than six years ago, the world changed. Terrorists saw to that.

I'm sure everyone knows where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news. I was asleep at the time. On the west coast, it was a little past 8 am and my phone rang. I woke, but as I was pulling myself out of bed, the ringing stopped, so back to the pillow I went. But a moment later, the phone rang again. Still half asleep, I went into the living room and picked up the phone.

"Hello."

"They took out the twin towers."

"Who? Bin Laden?"

"Turn on your TV."

That was extent of the conversation with a friend of mine. After the 1993 bombings, I had expected that group of scumbags to go after the towers again. Bin Laden was logical mastermind for me...even half asleep. I was called moments before the first tower collapsed...and watched the panic which ensued after it and the second tower went down. I spent the rest of the morning like everyone else...watching the news.

As I watched, I thought back to my days in the US Air Force...to the days terrorists went after me. Yes...I was a terrorist target.

The first time it happ ened was in Italy in 1977. The Brigate Rosse, or Red Brigade was terrorizing the people of northern Italy. I was then stationed at Aviano AB, in the northeast portion of Italy, near the Red Brigade area of operations. They worked out of Milan, Italy. Their tactics were not to kill, but to maim. They would shoot their targets in the knee, known as "knee-capping," which would in effect cripple the person. Their targets initially, were journalists who wrote negative articles about them. Later on, they changed their modus operandi and got into kidnapping and murder. But that isn't what this story is about.

One day, I was called to the office of the Carabinieri, the Italian State Police. When I arrived, our Security Police commander, base commander and few other people who I don't recall were present. I was told the Red Brigade had issued a threat to "knee-cap" an American journalist. Since my job at the time was that of editor of The Vigileer, the base newspaper for Aviano AB, there was the possibility I could be targeted. There were more American military journalists at an Army post near Vicenza, Italy and I am sure they were told the same thing I was.

I was told since Aviano was an open base, it would be a lot easier for the Red Brigade to get to me. The Carabinieri informed me what to watch for, and what to do if I saw anything suspicious. Then they told me to limit my trips off base. Well, that was almost impossible for me, since my newspaper was put together and printed in Pordenone, Italy, about 10 miles away and I had to be at the printing plant the two days prior to publishing the paper. I told them that, and told them I would keep an close eye on my surroundings and then asked if there was anything else because I had work to do. They mentioned things to watch for again and I went back to my office.

For the next three weeks, whenever I saw a car with plates from Milan, Italy in my rear view mirror, or parked near where I was going, I changed my plans. I would perform a scouting mission before I parked my car looking for Milan plated vehicles. Sometimes I would see a nearby Carabinieri vehicle parked near where I was, sometimes I wouldn't. I would think that they were watching me and they probably were. I didn't mind...I liked my knees.

Then, on a bright, sunny Saturday morning, a rail car on a supply train heading towards Aviano AB from the station in Pordenone, blew up. A couple of hours after the explosion, the Red Brigade claimed responsibility. In their communique, they said that rather than "knee-capping" someone who would be replaced, they wanted to hurt the Americans where it hurt most...by blowing up some of our needed supplies. So they planted a bomb on a rail car they knew was headed towards Aviano, set the timer and waited. Had the bomb gone off at the supply depot on base, it might have been a different story. But bomb went off before the car arrived on base. The damage it did, didn't hurt the base at all. The car they picked contained nothing but office supplies, something which was held back from news reports.

It hit home to me when I heard about the train incident, that I could easily have been the target instead. I became a lot more aware of my surroundings after that. I also noticed that I didn't see Carabinieri cars as often after that. I figure the Italian police had a lot to do with the change in tactics. It's possible that every time the Red Brigade looked for me, they also found nearby Carabinieri keeping an eye on me. That forced their hand and they changed tactics.

Flash forward to 1989. I was now on a temporary assignment to an Army unit at Soto Cano AB, Honduras. I was the Noncommissioned Officer in Charge of the Public Affairs office. The position had to be an Air Force member, since USAF aircraft flew in and out of the base on a regular basis. If there was an incident, an Air Force person in Public Affairs would be needed to handle the press queries.

Honduras at that time, was having a problem with the Morazanist Front for the Liberation of Honduras or FMLH. They had already made several attacks on the American military stationed in the country, and wanted nothing more than to cause more damage.

One morning, there was a bad auto accident right outside the gates to the base. American medical personnel responded and saved a number of lives. This was a good thing and we wanted to spread the word that we did good things for the country. So after a news release on the incident was translated into Spanish, my boss and I went into Comeyagua, the nearby town, to deliver the release to a number of the news outlets. The third drop point was a radio station near the center of town. When we arrived, my boss, an Army major, said he would be right out. So, I put the vehicle in neutral and waited. Standard operating procedure was to leave someone in the vehicle with the engine running and I was following that directive.

Five minutes passed and the major was still inside. At about ten minutes, I began to wonder what was going on. While I was trying to figure out the scenario, an Honduran walked up to the driver's side of the truck I was in and asked in a very unfriendly tone, if I needed help. I replied I didn't and that I was waiting for someone. The person then walked away from the truck towards the rear and I watched him go into a building about 100 feet away. Moments later, a different person came out of the doorway, paused a moment while he looked at me and took off down the street away from me. I made note of him and continued my vigil around the truck, making plans on what I would do should trouble break out before the major returned.

Less than five minutes later, I observed a pea-soup green Chevy Impala, probably early '70s, I don't remember now, pull up in front of the door and stop. Both front doors opened and the man who a short time earlier ran off in the direction the car came from, stepped out and went inside the building. The driver turned, faced my direction and stretched, then opened the back driver's side door and leaned in to do something. As he did that, the man who left the car moments earlier, along with the man who came to my truck earlier and third man came out of the building. One opened the rear passenger side door, while the other two climbed in the front and leaned over the seat to do something in the back seat area.

I now had a plan for a possible contingency and watched the quartet closely in my rear view mirror. As I watched, my stomach suddenly tightened. I saw the business end of an AK-47 pop up over the top of the front seat. Then it hit me what was going on. They were preparing their weapons they were going to use to attack me. A chill ran up and down my spine, my hands rubbed the cool, blue steel of the only protection I had, and I step on the clutch and slowly put the transmission into first gear. I had decided the moment I saw the first weapon come out, I would give the horn two quick blasts as I sped around a corner 20 feet in front of me. I would make the first left I saw then turn right at each of the first four right turns I came upon. I would then stop and wait. After a short time, if I didn't see the bad guys, I would return to the area of the square, hopefully pick up my boss and get the hell out of there.

Well, I didn't have to use my plan. Right around the time the group had finished what they were doing, and during what I assumed was the leader giving them the game plan for the attack, something happened that I will never forget. A bell rang and from a building on the other side of the street, behind the Chevy, a bunch of young, school aged Honduran children came running out, into the square.

The four guys behind me all jumped out to the street, straightened up and began looking around. Then they started arguing with each other until the original driver said something and the three others got in the car. The driver remained outside the car, staring at me and our eyes locked in the mirror. He stared for a few moments, then with his hand formed in the fashion of a pistol, he pointed it at me and pretended to shoot me. He pretended to blow the smoke out of the barrel, then got in the car and backed down the street a way, turned around and headed out of sight.

I was happy to see those kids. As a few of them walked past my truck on their way home, I reached into my pocket, grabbed all the money I had (Honduran limpiras, both paper and coin) and tossed it into the street and said, Gracias los niños! The children of course, picked it up, a couple tried to return it to me, but I waved it off and the kids for the most part hung nearby until my boss came out. He got in the truck, apologized for being so long and asked what was going on. I told him on the way to our last stop, which he wanted to skip. We then headed back to the safety of the base, where I was debriefed by intelligence.

My third confrontation with terrorists occurred in The Philippines a year and a half later. It was December 1990, and I had just picked up my Filipina girlfriend. We decided to get something to eat at a hotdog near her apartment before we headed out to do whatever it was we had planned to do. There wasn't a lot we could do, and few places we could go. Several months earlier, the New Peoples Army, or NPA, a group of murdering thugs, had walked up to two airmen just outside a hotel near the base and put a .45 round into the back of their heads. The assassinations forced the officials to declare almost all the local area, off-limits to Americans. A few weeks later, a small area known as "The Fish" was opened and declared secure by both the Air Force Security Police and the Philippine Army Police.

In December, the "fish" was still the only part of Angeles City most Americans could go...and outside of visiting strip bars filled with Filipina bar gals, there wasn't much to do in the "Fish."

The hotdog stand I was in, was right near the main gate to the base, on the other side of Field Avenue from the gate. It was recessed into the front of a building with the front wall completely open to the street. After we got our food, we went to back of the building and I sat with my back to the back wall where I could keep a close eye on the happenings in the street in front of me. I watched as American GIs walked by with their girlfriends, and Philippine military troops walked by. Then I watched three Philippino men walk by in leather coats.

I thought this was strange since even though it was 6:30 pm, the temperature was still about 80. But the three glanced inside the building and continued walking. A few minutes later, they came back. The first person walked across the street and stopped under a tree and leaned up against it. The other two stopped on either side of the building and leaned up against the wall. As I continued to talk to my girlfriend, I was watching the three out of the corner of my eye. I could tell the person across the street had a weapon under his jacket...the bulge wasn't obvious, but it was detectable. And I thought I could see bulges under the coats of the other two, but wasn't sure. So then my mind started going down the options list.

After watching dozens of GIs walk by the threesome and the three not even batting an eye their way, including very drunk airmen who would have been easy pickings for thieves, I decide they weren't criminals waiting for score. They had to have an agenda and most likely, I was that agenda. By an odd coincidence, I resembled my boss who was constantly on television announcing closures, openings and things of interest to all Americans at Clark AB. We knew from intelligence briefings, that my boss was on the hit list for the NPA. I could only assume the three surly looking Philippino guys waiting outside the hotdog stand, were in fact, NPA Sparrows (the name the group gave to their assassins) and they were waiting for me, thinking I was my boss, or they knew I worked in the same office and decided I was a target of opportunity. Either way, I knew I was in trouble if I left the building. And, as long as I was inside, they were content to wait. Again, I began forming a plan. When I finalized the idea, I told my girlfriend, as she was very important to it.

The plan was simple. I would go to the counter and get two more cokes. After sitting down, I would reach for my cigarettes (I was a smoker then) and crumple up the pack (there were several left in it) and ask her to go get me a pack of Camel Lights. I knew the cigarette stand next to where one of the thugs was waiting didn't have that brand and told my girlfriend to ask for them and when told they didn't have that brand, to ask where she could get them. She would then ask if Checkpoint would have them because everyone knew Checkpoint was the largest of all the street vendors. I explained to her when she got to Checkpoint, she was to go to the Philippine police and tell them about the three guys waiting outside the hotdog stand.

Then it was time to implement the plan. I got our drinks, tossed my not-really-empty-pack of cigarettes into a nearby trash can and asked my gal to go get me a pack. She did, and followed the plan. I drank my drink and waited and watched. The three looked at each other and a few moments later, I watched as the one near the tree snapped his head to his right, then say something and all three began running off down the street. A moment later, six Philippine Army troopers ran by in the same direction and behind them, my girlfriend with a big smile on her face. When she came over to me, I hugged her and said, "Let's get out of here." We walked over to the bus stop on base and waited for the bus. While we waited, I heard a series of gun shot off in the distance.

The next morning, I heard several possible NPA members had been shot and one or two wounded were captured. I smiled knowing I probably assisted in their demise.

Memories of those incidents came back to me as I sat and watched the events of 9/11. And as I watched, an intense hatred of terrorist grew in me.

That hatred is still there. To this day, I wish I was helping fight this global terror war the United States is involved in. But I can't. So my hatred grows. It will remain with me to the day I die. And so will the depression I feel everyday knowing I can't help my fellow fighting Americans fight that war.

Memories of Bad Days

2007-09-17T22:15:00.000-07:00

A little more than six years ago, the world changed. Terrorists saw to that.

I'm sure everyone knows where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news. I was asleep at the time. On the west coast, it was a little past 8 am and my phone rang. I woke, but as I was pulling myself out of bed, the ringing stopped, so back to the pillow I went. But a moment later, the phone rang again. Still half asleep, I went into the living room and picked up the phone.

"Hello."

"They took out the twin towers."

"Who? Bin Laden?"

"Turn on your TV."

That was extent of the conversation with a friend of mine. After the 1993 bombings, I had expected that group of scumbags to go after the towers again. Bin Laden was logical mastermind for me...even half asleep. I was called moments before the first tower collapsed...and watched the panic which ensued after it and the second tower went down. I spent the rest of the morning like everyone else...watching the news.

As I watched, I thought back to my days in the US Air Force...to the days terrorists went after me. Yes...I was a terrorist target.

The first time it happened was in Italy in 1977. The Brigate Rosse, or Red Brigade was terrorizing the people of northern Italy. I was then stationed at Aviano AB, in the northeast portion of Italy, near the Red Brigade area of operations. They worked out of Milan, Italy. Their tactics were not to kill, but to maim. They would shoot their targets in the knee, known as "knee-capping," which would in effect cripple the person. Their targets initially, were journalists who wrote negative articles about them. Later on, they changed their modus operandi and got into kidnapping and murder. But that isn't what this story is about.

One day, I was called to the office of the Carabinieri, the Italian State Police. When I arrived, our Security Police commander, base commander and few other people who I don't recall were present. I was told the Red Brigade had issued a threat to "knee-cap" an American journalist. Since my job at the time was that of editor of The Vigileer, the base newspaper for Aviano AB, there was the possibility I could be targeted. There were more American military journalists at an Army post near Vicenza, Italy and I am sure they were told the same thing I was.

I was told since Aviano was an open base, it would be a lot easier for the Red Brigade to get to me. The Carabinieri informed me what to watch for, and what to do if I saw anything suspicious. Then they told me to limit my trips off base. Well, that was almost impossible for me, since my newspaper was put together and printed in Pordenone, Italy, about 10 miles away and I had to be at the printing plant the two days prior to publishing the paper. I told them that, and told them I would keep an close eye on my surroundings and then asked if there was anything else because I had work to do. They mentioned things to watch for again and I went back to my office.

For the next three weeks, whenever I saw a car with plates from Milan, Italy in my rear view mirror, or parked near where I was going, I changed my plans. I would perform a scouting mission before I parked my car looking for Milan plated vehicles. Sometimes I would see a nearby Carabinieri vehicle parked near where I was, sometimes I wouldn't. I would think that they were watching me and they probably were. I didn't mind...I liked my knees.

Then, on a bright, sunny Saturday morning, a rail car on a supply train heading towards Aviano AB from the station in Pordenone, blew up. A couple of hours after the explosion, the Red Brigade claimed responsibility. In their communique, they said that rather than "knee-capping" someone who would be replaced, they wanted to hurt the Americans where it hurt most...by blowing up some of our needed supplies. So they planted a bomb on a rail car they knew was headed towards Aviano, set the timer and waited. Had the bomb gone off at the supply depot on base, it might have been a different story. But bomb went off before the car arrived on base. The damage it did, didn't hurt the base at all. The car they picked contained nothing but office supplies, something which was held back from news reports.

It hit home to me when I heard about the train incident, that I could easily have been the target instead. I became a lot more aware of my surroundings after that. I also noticed that I didn't see Carabinieri cars as often after that. I figure the Italian police had a lot to do with the change in tactics. It's possible that every time the Red Brigade looked for me, they also found nearby Carabinieri keeping an eye on me. That forced their hand and they changed tactics.

Flash forward to 1989. I was now on a temporary assignment to an Army unit at Soto Cano AB, Honduras. I was the Noncommissioned Officer in Charge of the Public Affairs office. The position had to be an Air Force member, since USAF aircraft flew in and out of the base on a regular basis. If there was an incident, an Air Force person in Public Affairs would be needed to handle the press queries.

Honduras at that time, was having a problem with the Morazanist Front for the Liberation of Honduras or FMLH. They had already made several attacks on the American military stationed in the country, and wanted nothing more than to cause more damage.

One morning, there was a bad auto accident right outside the gates to the base. American medical personnel responded and saved a number of lives. This was a good thing and we wanted to spread the word that we did good things for the country. So after a news release on the incident was translated into Spanish, my boss and I went into Comeyagua, the nearby town, to deliver the release to a number of the news outlets. The third drop point was a radio station near the center of town. When we arrived, my boss, an Army major, said he would be right out. So, I put the vehicle in neutral and waited. Standard operating procedure was to leave someone in the vehicle with the engine running and I was following that directive.

Five minutes passed and the major was still inside. At about ten minutes, I began to wonder what was going on. While I was trying to figure out the scenario, an Honduran walked up to the driver's side of the truck I was in and asked in a very unfriendly tone, if I needed help. I replied I didn't and that I was waiting for someone. The person then walked away from the truck towards the rear and I watched him go into a building about 100 feet away. Moments later, a different person came out of the doorway, paused a moment while he looked at me and took off down the street away from me. I made note of him and continued my vigil around the truck, making plans on what I would do should trouble break out before the major returned.

Less than five minutes later, I observed a pea-soup green Chevy Impala, probably early '70s, I don't remember now, pull up in front of the door and stop. Both front doors opened and the man who a short time earlier ran off in the direction the car came from, stepped out and went inside the building. The driver turned, faced my direction and stretched, then opened the back driver's side door and leaned in to do something. As he did that, the man who left the car moments earlier, along with the man who came to my truck earlier and third man came out of the building. One opened the rear passenger side door, while the other two climbed in the front and leaned over the seat to do something in the back seat area.

I now had a plan for a possible contingency and watched the quartet closely in my rear view mirror. As I watched, my stomach suddenly tightened. I saw the business end of an AK-47 pop up over the top of the front seat. Then it hit me what was going on. They were preparing their weapons they were going to use to attack me. A chill ran up and down my spine, my hands rubbed the cool, blue steel of the only protection I had, and I step on the clutch and slowly put the transmission into first gear. I had decided the moment I saw the first weapon come out, I would give the horn two quick blasts as I sped around a corner 20 feet in front of me. I would make the first left I saw then turn right at each of the first four right turns I came upon. I would then stop and wait. After a short time, if I didn't see the bad guys, I would return to the area of the square, hopefully pick up my boss and get the hell out of there.

Well, I didn't have to use my plan. Right around the time the group had finished what they were doing, and during what I assumed was the leader giving them the game plan for the attack, something happened that I will never forget. A bell rang and from a building on the other side of the street, behind the Chevy, a bunch of young, school aged Honduran children came running out, into the square.

The four guys behind me all jumped out to the street, straightened up and began looking around. Then they started arguing with each other until the original driver said something and the three others got in the car. The driver remained outside the car, staring at me and our eyes locked in the mirror. He stared for a few moments, then with his hand formed in the fashion of a pistol, he pointed it at me and pretended to shoot me. He pretended to blow the smoke out of the barrel, then got in the car and backed down the street a way, turned around and headed out of sight.

I was happy to see those kids. As a few of them walked past my truck on their way home, I reached into my pocket, grabbed all the money I had (Honduran limpiras, both paper and coin) and tossed it into the street and said, Gracias los niños! The children of course, picked it up, a couple tried to return it to me, but I waved it off and the kids for the most part hung nearby until my boss came out. He got in the truck, apologized for being so long and asked what was going on. I told him on the way to our last stop, which he wanted to skip. We then headed back to the safety of the base, where I was debriefed by intelligence.

My third confrontation with terrorists occurred in The Philippines a year and a half later. It was December 1990, and I had just picked up my Filipina girlfriend. We decided to get something to eat at a hotdog near her apartment before we headed out to do whatever it was we had planned to do. There wasn't a lot we could do, and few places we could go. Several months earlier, the New Peoples Army, or NPA, a group of murdering thugs, had walked up to two airmen just outside a hotel near the base and put a .45 round into the back of their heads. The assassinations forced the officials to declare almost all the local area, off-limits to Americans. A few weeks later, a small area known as "The Fish" was opened and declared secure by both the Air Force Security Police and the Philippine Army Police.

In December, the "fish" was still the only part of Angeles City most Americans could go...and outside of visiting strip bars filled with Filipina bar gals, there wasn't much to do in the "Fish."

The hotdog stand I was in, was right near the main gate to the base, on the other side of Field Avenue from the gate. It was recessed into the front of a building with the front wall completely open to the street. After we got our food, we went to back of the building and I sat with my back to the back wall where I could keep a close eye on the happenings in the street in front of me. I watched as American GIs walked by with their girlfriends, and Philippine military troops walked by. Then I watched three Philippino men walk by in leather coats.

I thought this was strange since even though it was 6:30 pm, the temperature was still about 80. But the three glanced inside the building and continued walking. A few minutes later, they came back. The first person walked across the street and stopped under a tree and leaned up against it. The other two stopped on either side of the building and leaned up against the wall. As I continued to talk to my girlfriend, I was watching the three out of the corner of my eye. I could tell the person across the street had a weapon under his jacket...the bulge wasn't obvious, but it was detectable. And I thought I could see bulges under the coats of the other two, but wasn't sure. So then my mind started going down the options list.

After watching dozens of GIs walk by the threesome and the three not even batting an eye their way, including very drunk airmen who would have been easy pickings for thieves, I decide they weren't criminals waiting for score. They had to have an agenda and most likely, I was that agenda. By an odd coincidence, I resembled my boss who was constantly on television announcing closures, openings and things of interest to all Americans at Clark AB. We knew from intelligence briefings, that my boss was on the hit list for the NPA. I could only assume the three surly looking Philippino guys waiting outside the hotdog stand, were in fact, NPA Sparrows (the name the group gave to their assassins) and they were waiting for me, thinking I was my boss, or they knew I worked in the same office and decided I was a target of opportunity. Either way, I knew I was in trouble if I left the building. And, as long as I was inside, they were content to wait. Again, I began forming a plan. When I finalized the idea, I told my girlfriend, as she was very important to it.

The plan was simple. I would go to the counter and get two more cokes. After sitting down, I would reach for my cigarettes (I was a smoker then) and crumple up the pack (there were several left in it) and ask her to go get me a pack of Camel Lights. I knew the cigarette stand next to where one of the thugs was waiting didn't have that brand and told my girlfriend to ask for them and when told they didn't have that brand, to ask where she could get them. She would then ask if Checkpoint would have them because everyone knew Checkpoint was the largest of all the street vendors. I explained to her when she got to Checkpoint, she was to go to the Philippine police and tell them about the three guys waiting outside the hotdog stand.

Then it was time to implement the plan. I got our drinks, tossed my not-really-empty-pack of cigarettes into a nearby trash can and asked my gal to go get me a pack. She did, and followed the plan. I drank my drink and waited and watched. The three looked at each other and a few moments later, I watched as the one near the tree snapped his head to his right, then say something and all three began running off down the street. A moment later, six Philippine Army troopers ran by in the same direction and behind them, my girlfriend with a big smile on her face. When she came over to me, I hugged her and said, "Let's get out of here." We walked over to the bus stop on base and waited for the bus. While we waited, I heard a series of gun shot off in the distance.

The next morning, I heard several possible NPA members had been shot and one or two wounded were captured. I smiled knowing I probably assisted in their demise.

Memories of those incidents came back to me as I sat and watched the events of 9/11. And as I watched, an intense hatred of terrorist grew in me.

That hatred is still there. To this day, I wish I was helping fight this global terror war the United States is involved in. But I can't. So my hatred grows. It will remain with me to the day I die. And so will the depression I feel everyday knowing I can't help my fellow fighting Americans fight that war.

Oh where, oh where have the blogs all gone?

2007-09-17T14:04:00.000-07:00

Back in the early part of this year, I started this blog. I actually published two rants before I lost the bookmark and forgot just where it was that I started this blog. I know...my bad...and a really bad bad at that.

Enter this afternoon.

While conversing through a chat program with a friend back east, she sent me at link to her blog. I went to the blog and began seeing things that looked familiar. I looked at the upper right corner on the page of her blog and there was a sign in link...so I clicked it and using the same user name I use on almost all my sites, I typed the first letter and a drop down box containing the full name appeared. I clicked on that name and the password box was filled in along with the user name box.

Could it be, I began to wonder.

So I hit sign in and BANG! I was at my dashboard! I had found my long lost BLOG!

So, I loaded up the two posts I had already made and noticed not one single comment 8v( Did that mean no one missed my absence? I figure it does and since no one commented, no one will know I lost this blog...until now 8v)

However, now that I have found this place again, I'll start bloggin' here instead of my other blogs. Yeah...that's right...my other blogs. I have two other blogs. One is on (dare I say it?) Yahoo! 360 and the other on MySpace. I generally did up the blog on MySpace, copied it then pasted it to the Yahoo site. But I never got many comments on those blogs so I guess it don't matter much where I post my blog...the results will be the same.

Maybe.

I say maybe, because things have changed somewhat for me. I have new friends (yes, that's right...I do make friends even though I rant a lot) and they just might be interested in what I have to say. If not, no biggie...things will remain as they always have.

In any case, my rants will continue here from now on...and I'll copy/paste to the other two until such time I decide to trash them and do only one blog...which is probably the best way to go.

Oh...and if you're interested in what I blogged during my absence here, go to the following sites and read some great posts...at least I think they are great.

Yahoo! 360 (Update: I have since deleted my MySpace blog...so ignore any reference to it)

At both, you'll have to click on View Blog, or something like that. But I think you'll find some of them worth it.

So, until later when I do a real blog entry (which I was planning to do on the other site), happy reading or whatever.

Damn...it's good to be back.

It Stormed!!!!!!

2007-08-31T23:40:00.000-07:00

Wednesday and Thursday of this week (Aug. 28-29), were fun days for me on the high desert.

It stormed!

Now that in and of itself may mean nothing to people in the parts of the world which get storms throughout the Spring, Summer and Fall, but the two recent days of storms here, were the first in a long time.

Another thing some folks might be wondering about is why am I blogging this fact. I'm only doing it because I love storms. And, on both days, I took out my camera and photographed lightning. It's a rare day when we have lightning that actually lights up the sky...and these storms produced some good lightning.

One of my favorite captures from the storms is this shot:

It was taken on Wednesday evening and was the last shot I got that evening before rain forced me and my non-weatherized digital camera inside.

But along with the lightning came some badly needed rain in the high desert. Thursday's afternoon storm produced wind gusts up to 50 mph and in a span of 20 minutes, dumped slightly more than two inches of rain. Needless to say, river ran down streets, yards were swamps and gardens got badly needed moisture.

But something else happened during that storm Thursday afternoon. A tree in front of the house I rent a room in, got so badly battered around, that it dumped three fledgling American Goldfinches onto the lawn. The young birds were soaked to the core, cold and wet, and were sitting ducks for any hungry stray cat which came by looking for dinner.

Beside which, my landlord loves finches and enjoys watching them feed on her feeders. So, when I noticed the birds in trouble, I went and told her there were three birds flopping around in her front yard and asked her if she wanted to help them survive. Her first thought was they were Starling chicks and wanted nothing to do with them until I told her what they really were.

Well, I captured the birds and brought them to her and she proceeded to dry them off, warm them and was even able to get the birds to eat through an eyedropper. Friday morning when I checked on the birds, they were drinking water, eating small seed and even chirping. It looks like they will survive.

Since the birds are well-feathered and do a lot of moving around the cage, I told my landlord that in less than a week we might be able to release the youngsters. When we do send the triplets into the world, I hope their natural instinct for survival will take over and give them a full life.

Of course, if we do release them now, I don't think we have to worry about them getting caught in another storm.

Numerous storms over a period of two days is probably all we will get this summer.

But if we do get any more storms, I'll have my camera ready for the lightning and I am sure my landlord will be looking out for several small birds hanging out in her yard.

Ted Nugent Reads My Blog

2007-08-30T12:38:00.000-07:00

Ted Nugent reads my blog...or so I would like to think.

Yesterday (Aug. 29), Nugent was on "The O'Reilly Factor" and was being interviewed by John Kasich regarding what he (Nugent) said at one of his concerts. Not to get off of the subject here, but I used to think Kasich had a level head on his shoulders. But after watching the replay of his guest host stint on O'Rielly's show, I would sooner listen to fingernails being scrapped along a blackboard than listen to him again. 'Nuff said on that...back to substance of this blog.

The program was being replayed on Fox News Channel at 1 a.m. when I, for whatever reason, I couldn't sleep and turned on the TV and the show was on. It's been a long time since I watched the "Factor," and decided I would read the runner at the bottom of the screen to see what was happening around the world, while I half-assed listened to what was going on in the program.

It wasn't long before the Nugent interview came up and I began paying a bit more attention to what was on the show. I like Ted Nugent. I have always liked his music, and his stand on a lot of things is very much in line with my stand. In every instance where I have seen him away from the Rock 'n' Roll world, he has impressed me with his thoughts and actions, which is something rare in the world of show business (not that my right-wing views mean anything to anyone).

Kasich began the "Unresolved Problem" segment with a clip from Nugent's recent concert in California. During the concert Nugent said some things about Obama and Clinton, the front running Democratic presidential candidates. When I heard what he said, I had to laugh and thought, "Right on, Ted."

After the clip, Kasich began the interview by asking Nugent, "Hey, Ted, why'd you do this?"

Nugent answered talking about it all being Rock 'n' Roll and fun and there is an intensity level at concerts. I have been to a number of rock concerts (not so many these days, but the 70s were full of concerts for me) and they are intense. Everyone just going with the flow and the flow is normally set by the performer on the stage. As Nugent continued his explanation, I began shaking my head in agreement.

Then he said something that caused me to sit up.

He said, "You realize that when Mick Jagger rode a 40-foot inflated phallic symbol onto stage, he didn't explain anything to anyone."

Now this may have escaped a lot of people, but if you are a regular reader of my blog, you know I talked about a similar, and probably the actual, incident Nugent referred to in an earlier entry here.

As I said earlier, when Nugent mentioned that incident, I sat up in bed and smiled. I knew I had blogged that activity a month or so earlier. Prior to posting the blog entry, I searched the net for information regarding the Stones incident and couldn't find anything about it (I wanted the date of the concert for the blog). I figure the world of the rock star is a fairly close world. It's possible Nugent had heard about the incident from others in his world and always remembered it.

Or, Nugent could have been at the concert in San Antonio in the mid 70s. But I doubt that since he was performing 200 concert tours a year during that time. Maybe he was next in line to use that stadium and was there checking it out before hand, but I don't remember. I probably would have gone to that concert too, if he was performing soon after the Stones, but I don't remember going to a Nugent concert.

So, what's left? He read my blog titled "Cowtown memories" recently and that is why he mentioned it on the "Factor." And if that is how Ted Nugent heard about the incident...that's really cool...he reads my blog.

No matter how he heard about, Ted Nugent is still "the man!" He is a true American, not some pansy-assed, liberal idiot who thinks touchy-feely is the way to go. Kick ass, Ted! And rock on!

Oh...and if you also watched the show, what did you think of Remi Spencer? There is only word I can think of to refer to her...HOT!...even if she's a lawyer.

By the way, the entire interview with Nugent is here.

Eclipse Time

2007-08-28T16:51:00.000-07:00

Early this morning (Aug. 28), I watched the lunar eclipse. It's always cool to watch one of these, whether it be a partial or full eclipse like this one was.

One of the things I noticed about the eclipse was the speed at which light disappeared. Prior to the start of the eclipse, I went outside and the light from the full Moon was extremely bright. Outside of reading, there was much I would not have been able to do in that light.

However, as the eclipse progressed, I went outside before the darkest part of the shadow touched the moon and light had been drastically reduced. Then, as the dark shadow, known as the umbra began moving over the Moon, the light outside was barely casting a shadow at the halfway mark. Previous eclipses I have watched, there was still a bit more light to see by, but not during this eclipse.

The really strange site came as the entire moon was overtaken by the umbra. For a few minutes, a beautiful copper ball hung in the night sky. Then about 3 am PST, the Moon seemed to disappear. It really wasn't "gone," but very little light was being reflected back to it from Earth. It took a bit of an effort to locate it in the sky. This condition didn't last long, and soon, the familiar copper colored globe became easier to see.

I have never seen a Moon get that dark during an eclipse. The shadowed Moon stayed dark and coppery for slightly more than an hour, when the bright, white light began to glow in the upper left part of the globe. As more and more of the Moon's surface was reintroduced to the bright light of the sun, more and more of the shadows of night began to disappear. Then, towards 5 am, all was normal with the world again.

I tried to take some photos during the eclipse, but my gear wasn't up to the task. I was able to get some halfway shots at the beginning, but images of totality escaped me. So did images of halfway at the end. I got the shots, but the images are out of focus...badly out of focus. And I did get shots of totality, but my properly exposed images are blurred from lunar motion and my underexposed images are so noisy from pumping up the shadows, that the photos just ain't worth doing anything with.

But I did see the eclipse and plan to watch the next one on Feb. 21 of next year. And that will be the last one until Dec. 21, 2010.

Fantasy Football Time!

2007-08-25T14:01:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is draft day for the fantasy football league I joined a couple of seasons ago. It's something I enjoy doing, but not something that means that much to me.

It's like fantasy NASCAR racing. I belong to two leagues in that. In one league, I am either in last place or next to last. In the other, I am currently in first place. I really don't care where I am...I am having fun playing.

I know there are die-hards in all fantasy sports. I just ain't one of them. I'd rather do something I really enjoy, in place of watching a football game, and that includes the Superbowl.

So, tomorrow morning, 10 am PDT, I will be sitting in front of my computer drafting my 15-man team that I will use to play in my 12-team league of the TCBOO Fantasy Football League, instead of doing something else. But it will only last a couple of hours. Besides, the weather could cool off tomorrow by 15 degrees over what today should bring in the high desert of central Oregon.

I know several members of our league who probably got up this morning and began getting things ready for the draft. I did that a while ago. I pick seventh in the draft (last year I picked first and stupid me went with Larry Johnson instead of L.T.) and a week or so ago, listed what position I would be drafting in the various rounds of the draft. I also made a list of players I would like to get if they are available at the time their position comes up in my draft. I did that during last year's draft and ended up with a decent team. I did take my division title in only my second year of fantasy football. Whether that is good or ho-hum, I don't know, but at least I can say it...hehehe.

This morning I got up and instead of working on my draft plan, went out on photo safari at 7 am. I went to one of my favorite places to shoot and wasn't disappointed. I managed to get shots of one, maybe two new damselflies. I also photographed two new birds. And a photo of something I have wanted to get for a long time...a dragonfly in flight. It was a good morning.

It even started out good before I got to the lake to start shooting. I stopped by a store to get some water to drink and a snack and saw a friend of mine I hadn't talked to in a long time. When she worked at another place, I would stop in their for a bite to eat and if it was a slow time, she would come over and we would talk. I like talking with her, and really enjoy the sound of her voice. So, it was a real pleasure to start my safari today.

But it's all fun...fantasy sports...shooting photos...wandering around. It is what I like to do.

Behind The Iron Curtain, Part II

2007-08-17T00:01:00.000-07:00

I had planned to continue a previous post last night, but I went out on a walking photo safari and, even though I drank plenty of water, still came down with a bit of heat exhaustion. In the end, I couldn't think straight and decided I'd to continue it this evening.

So, in the last amazing chapter of my time behind the Iron Curtain, myself and a friend had just returned from a rather interesting self-guided tour of East Berlin. Our first day in Berlin had turned into a really interesting time. But it wasn't to end with that first day.

For the next week or so, we attended conference activities and even put out the local newspaper for Templehof Airport when the regular editor went on leave. We also visited a variety of places in West Berlin, from the offices of the largest newspaper to the offices of magazines published in West Berlin. The tours were interesting and added a lot to our knowledge of the job we did.

But the day came when the group of editors from the southern reaches of the U.S. Air Force in Europe were to travel into East Berlin on a bus tour of the Soviet portion of the divided city. This time, instead of walking through the gate at Checkpoint Charlie, we rode through it in a blue bus. I don't remember the exact route we took, or the order in which we arrived at the places we went, but I am sure our first stop was at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

Inside the tomb is a monument to the unknown soldiers who died fighting fascism. There was some really nice tile mosaics and an eternal flame inside the building. After we had looked it over, we went back outside to await the changing of the guard. At that time, the tomb had two East German soldiers standing on either side of the entrance. The soldiers held their weapons in the palm of their hands, with their hands placed against their side about two thirds of the way down from their shoulder to their waist. I knew it was a difficult way to hold the rifle.

Under the foot of each guard was a switch. When their arm tired, the pressed on the switch and a bell would ring. One second after the bell finished ringing, the guards would, in unison, switch the weapon to their other arm. A sensible way to do things to keep the guards from dropping their rifles.

Now, the guards faced outward towards the people in the street in front of them. Behind them was a walkway which was similar to a porch. When I left the inside part of the tomb, I walked along the porch area and stopped directly behind the guard who was on the left side of the building as you looked at it. I was several feet behind him, but still visible to those on the street. I soon realized people were taking our photo. For most, it was probably a "Good Guy, Bad Guy" photo with me being the bad guy. But I didn't care...I knew where I was.

Then the guard began to realize something was going on also, what with all these people taking his photo. As I stood behind this young man, I stood tall with a large smile and my chin held high. And then I noticed very slight movements in the head of the guard. I could only imagine him trying to glance behind his back to see what was so photogenic back there (not that I am photogenic, I was the bad guy remember?). So as his head made slight twitches to his right, I took one giant step forward and to my right, and into his peripheral vision.

Well, he lost it. His weapon started to waiver, his head shook, and his bell rang. Figuring he already blew it, he turned looking right at me and scowled, then switched the arm holding his weapon. I'm sure if it had been loaded, he probably would have emptied it into me. I walked off the walkway and joined my fellow editors in the crowds waiting to watch the changing of the guards. When it was finished, I am sure there was one East German glad he wasn't on duty anymore.

I got a kick out of that and figured I had gotten the troop in trouble. But I wasn't finished. As our bus moved along the roads of East Berlin, we came upon a four lane road. Not long after we got on that road, a military truck pulled up along side of us. I need to set the stage right now with a description of our bus load of people. All but one of us, were men. The woman was a stunning redhead named Deb. She was sitting several seats in front of me looking out the window on the side where the military truck pulled along of us. I was in the back of the bus.

This military truck was a Soviet truck. I could tell by the markings it belonged to the Russians. In the back of the truck, on both sides, sat Soviet troops, most likely conscripted soldiers of the USSR. In the middle, in the front of the back bed, sat a large, nasty looking NCO.

It didn't take the troops in the truck to notice Deb. They started stealing glances towards her and those whose backs were to our bus, began turning around to see for themselves. When I noticed Deb was the object of attention, I said, "Deb, start blowing them kisses or something." And she did. She no more than got started when the troops on the far side of the truck moved over to our side and those whose backs had been facing us were now turned around. They were reaching out for Deb's kisses and smiling and saying something in Russian I didn't understand.

But it all ended as soon as the NCO in the front of the truck bed barked something. They all immediately returned to their seats, their eyes staring straight ahead. Deb had stopped what she had been doing, but I was in the back of the bus laughing. And then I locked my gaze on the large NCO in the front of the truck bed. His gaze was directly on me. I guess he knew I instigated the performance and his stare on me was one that would have killed if it could have. I stared back and the two of us didn't break our stare until the truck turned off onto another street. Again, I felt good and I knew I showed that Soviet NCO that this particular US Air Force NCO wasn't afraid of him or his troops at all.

We continued on with our tour. At one point we passed Hitler's Bunker, or what was left of it. It sat in an open field surrounded by nothing, giving no indication what it was to anyone who didn't know. And then the tour continued.

Soon, we entered an area which looked important and moments later, our tour guide told us how important the area was. The building we were soon to pass on right was the equivalent to our White House. It was the home of the chancellor of East Germany. As I looked forward in the direction we were travelling I noticed the road we were on was a single lane, winding road which cut its way through what would have been a park setting anywhere else. In East Berlin, it was just one more open area surrounding a large, important building. As we passed the building, I looked towards it and saw a black sedan heading our way from the building. When it got to the road we were on, it turned left and headed towards us.

With me sitting in the back of the bus, I had a nice view of what happened next. The driver of the car sped up, got right on our tail and tried to go around us. The road being a single lane road also had curbing on it which was maybe 10 inches high. In the back of the car, I could see someone lean forward, look at me, say something to the driver and then lean back. At that point, the driver unsuccessfully tried to go over the curbing and around us. It was then I noticed the license plate on the car. It read, "DDR 1." It was the car of the chancellor and it was probably him the in the backseat. At this point, the driver started blowing his horn.

When our tour guide heard the racket, our he asked me what was going on back there and I told him some guy in a black sedan with plate number DDR 1 is trying to get around us. He laughed and said let him try. I then asked if he was who I thought he was and was told he probably was. I then looked back at the driver who now was trying to wave us to the side so him could get by.

If our bus driver had hugged either side of the road we were on, there may have been enough room for the car to pass, but our driver was hogging the road and as I watched the driver frantically wave, and the man in the back lean forward and look at me, I shrugged my shoulders and flipped them the bird. I then flashed a large smile and watched as the car began falling behind. By this time I was laughing so hard, I was rolling around in my seat. The look on the face of the driver said everything. Total confusion.

A few minutes later, we arrived at the Soviet Military Cemetery in East Berlin. It is a beautiful cemetery and in respect for the men and women who lost their life fighting Hitler's Germany, I showed proper respect for the fallen. I took a number of photos there, and even got into a conversation with a gentleman and his family from Romania.

When the tour was over, we headed for Checkpoint Charlie. We were heading back to West Berlin. I must admit I enjoyed our tour of East Berlin and I know there are a number of people who probably still wonder who that asshole American was on that day.

But what made all of what I did so special for me, was the fact the day we decided to tour East Berlin, was the 60th anniversary of the October Revolution and I am sure the troops I got in trouble in the back of that truck were going to do something for the celebration. And the chancellor guy I flipped off was probably trying to get to some celebration with his Soviet puppeteers, thinking they would never believe his excuse for being late. And that guard at the tomb probably still has nightmares about that split second moment he caught sight of me moving behind him.

Even today, I laugh at what I did that day. We were in the middle of the Cold War and what better way is there to fight a Cold War, than to confront the enemy on their home field. That, I am proud of.

But if anyone reading this remembers me from that day, today I say, "I am sorry if I caused you any trouble." And to the NCO in the back of that truck, I know you know what I was doing. I hope you didn't take it out on our troops too badly.

Berlin was a temporary assignment I will never forget. Those two weeks there were better than any three years I could have lived there had my assignment there gone through.

The Perseid Meteor Shower in Central Oregon

2007-08-14T00:39:00.000-07:00

Well, Sunday night I was out again watching the Perseid Meteor Shower. I was getting my viewing area ready for the vigil which I had planned to begin about 90 minutes later, but during the set up, I witnessed two beautiful and one okay meteor streak through the sky. So, I ran in the house, gathered the rest of my gear and brought it out.

I also brought out my camera...again. I set up near my lounge chair and after a few shots had been taken, decided to look at the composition. There were tree branches in it and near the top, a phone line, so I decided to relocate it. However, like the dumbass I can be sometimes, I picked up the entire rig and when I made a slight turn in the darkness, I whopped the camera against the side of an apple tree near my set up area.

Fearing the worst, I set the camera up and took a quick shot. The camera worked fine and when I looked at the image, I realized when the rig hit the tree, it moved my focus setting. A week or so ago, I remembered that the lens I was using didn't have a marked setting for Infinity focus, so I did a few shots, determined the correct way to set the manual focus of the lens to infinity and marked the position with two lines that I line up. So, I turned on my trusty red light flashlight, located to the lines and lined them up.

I then set the camera to shoot an image every 30 seconds, and I settled into my lounge chair and began a wonderful night of meteor viewing. I started at 11:30 pm (Pacific daylight time) and quit at 4:10am. During that time, I saw more than 100 meteors in the small section of sky I can see. Many were bright fireballs, but most were average everyday meteor. About 70 percent of them were Perseids, while the other 30 percent originated from radiants the north and south of the Perseids shower radiant. I know the southern radiant is from the Delta Aquids or something like that, but the northern radiant has me baffled.

While I watched the meteors blaze through the night sky, I saw several which may or may not have entered the camera's field of view. I was looking forward to checking the images later. Well, four and half hours later, I was cold (I live in a desert climate so it gets friggin cold at night, even in the summer) and tired, so I brought everything inside and collapsed on my bed.

After finishing my morning ritual, I stuck the CF card in my computer and ate breakfast while it transfered the 410 images I shot that night. When I looked at the first couple of images, everything was fine. They were the shots taken before the camera met the tree. But the images after that were blurred and distorted...every one of them.

And what was even more depressing was one image had what looked like a really nice meteor flashing through it.

Talk about wanting someone around to kick my ass (I can't do it myself). The lens took the beating and, like the 98 pound weakling, didn't survive. Now I have no wide angle lens...at least not until I can afford to replace the busted one.

I shall be a bit more careful with how I handle things around here. Of course, every time I screw something of mine up, I say the same thing, but what the hell at least I am trying.

Until I continue my interrupted blog of a couple of days ago, take care all you loyal readers...all of you...and watch out for those apple trees at night.

It's Shower Time

2007-08-12T17:50:00.000-07:00

Early this morning, I gathered together a few things and proceded to do something I do every year at this time: Watch the Perseid Meteor Shower.

It was predicted to be one of the best displays in a long time. Well, so far it hasn't lived up to its expectation. Normal peak times for the shower are on the night of Aug. 11-12 and I was prepared. I did see some good shots, three nice, bright meteors which left a trail behind them as they burned in, but for the most part, anything else from the Perseids was small and dim.

There were two sporadic meteors (sporadics are meteors not associated with the shower being viewed) and one of them was a rather nice gold color. But two sporadics and 10 Perseids don't a meteor shower make.

Nor do they satisfy a watcher like me.

One reason I like to watch meteor showers is that I live in an area which affords me the opportunity to lie down in my backyard and get a nice view of stars and meteors, even with the lights of the city. It's not as good as it was 10 years ago, but still better than the night sky in Chicago 30 years ago. Plus, if I got out away from town to view, the night sky becomes absolutely stunning...almost glowing what with so many stars shining.

But I also like to photograph the showers I watch, in the hopes I can capture a nice shot of a beautiful meteor streaking through the sky.

Last night, I had my camera with me. It's a Canon Digital Rebel. A fairly old camera as digital single lens reflex cameras go, but it does a good job for me in my normal photographic pursuits. But I have only one lens worth using for meteors...a 28-80mm zoom lens. Because my camera has a smaller imaging chip at the point of focus of lens attached to it, it captures a smaller part of the image being projected by the lens. In the case of my camera, the field of view of the lens is equal to a 35mm film camera's field of view with a 45mm lens attached...not the 28mm which is the widest the lens can see.

It's a smaller slice of the sky I see with my camera, but I figure if I ever catch a meteor in the frame, it should look pretty good. But last night wasn't that night. I fired off just under 300 images (30 seconds long) and not one single one of the dozen meteors I saw fell within the view of the camera.

I watched the show for three hours and every time I watched a meteor blaze across a different portion of the sky than that my camera was pointed at, I would think, "Maybe I should move the camera." And then I would think of the grocery line...you know...the line you are NOT in always moves faster than your line until you move to that line. I figured if I moved my camera, nothing would show in that portion of the sky again and dozens of meteors would blaze through the area I just vacated.

I would have gotten one really nice meteor had I pointed the camera to shoot straight up. Two nice ones light up the night sky directly above me. But I didn't reposition the camera's view when the first one flew by and ended up with nothing. Oh, well...shit happens. .

I'll be out tonight again...camera pointed to a small slice of the night sky again...hoping to get that great meteor shot again.

Maybe I won't get skunked...again.

And if you tuned in at this time to catch up on the continuing story of my adventures behind The Wall, check back again. It got preempted.

Behind The Iron Curtain, Part I

2007-08-10T00:45:00.000-07:00

Months ago, I debated with myself whether I should post certain photos to my Flickr Photostream. After doing a bit of research and weighing the good and bad reasons, I decided to go ahead and post those photos.

The photos weren't taken with the latest digital gear, nor were they taken with the finest 35mm color film. They were shot with Tri-X, a black and white Kodak film. And, they were shot 30 years ago. They were shot during another period of time when global tensions were strained, and two giants faced each other across the ring.

They were shot in the then cities of West Berlin and East Berlin.

Today, that beautiful city is known simply as Berlin. A wall, which split the city is no longer a barrier. In November of 1989, the single most oppressive object the world has known, fell. That object was known simply as The Wall. It went up in the early '60s and turned the western portion of Berlin into what was often called "an island of democracy in a sea of communism."

I went to Berlin because the Commander in Chief of US Air Forces, Europe wanted all of the newspaper editors under his command to go there, see what it was all about and tell the people who read their newspapers, what it is all about...why American troops were in Europe at that time. So a Newspaper Editor's Conference was set up for Berlin.

When I was stateside, I had gotten orders assigning me to Templehof Airport in Berlin, but during my processing for that assignment, I was told my assignment was being changed to Aviano AB, Italy. I was a bit disappointed, as Berlin was, in my mind, a magical place. Full of history, I was looking forward to my assignment there. But Italy had its good points and more. After a year and a half in Italy, I was loving the area of Italy I was in and the assignment.

However, when the opportunity came up to go to Berlin, I was very happy. When the date for my departure arrived, I took off in a train headed for Frankfort, West Germany. My train ride took about eight hours to get there and once I arrived, I was told I would have another 12-14 hours on the Troop Train, which would take us through East Germany and finally into West Berlin. It was a long ride, filled with lots of stops at train stations along the way. We were told to keep the curtains closed in our cabins while the train was at a stop.

At each stop, the train filled with Americans, was watched closely by the East German army, or maybe, police. I'm not sure which, but at one stop when I did lift the curtain and peer outside, I saw two uniformed individuals with AK-47s walking by the train car. When they saw me, they raised their weapons and headed towards the window. I dropped the curtain, closed my eyes, shook my head and knew I would soon be dragged out of the car by armed guards who would take me to a dark dungeon, lock me in and turn me into the latest pawn in the international game of the Cold War.

That didn't happen, because moments later, the train started to move. It didn't take me long to realize I was in Indian Country. Our train was riding through a part of the world where I was considered the bad guy. After "beating the system" (so to speak) at that one stop, I figured I knew the game and that I would play by my rules...or at least try. When we finally arrived in West Berlin, one of our first requests was to see Checkpoint Charlie.

While there, myself and another editor there for the conference, decided we were going into East Berlin on our own. Around 2 pm, we casually walked through the gates at Checkpoint Charlie, stopped at the currency exchange on the other side, got some East German marks and headed off for a makeshift tour of one of the most well-known, but secretive cities in the world at the time.

It wasn't long before I began to notice a couple of people following us. I decided I was going to let them know I knew they were there. So when we rounded a corner and were out of sight temporarily, I moved over to a wall of a building between us and waited. When the two came into sight, I smiled, waved at them and watched their reaction. There was a moment of confusion in the faces of the two which brought a bigger smile to my face. I shook my head and walked back to my friend.

Later on, when we became hungry, the two of us decided to get something to eat. As we walked along a row of buildings, the sounds of people enjoying themselves and the smell of food drew our attention and in we went. Prior to us going in the restaurant, we could hear people talking, laughing and having a good time. It was something we had not heard or experienced since crossing through Checkpoint Charlie early that day. But as soon as we went in, the place got so quiet, a person on side of the room could have heard a dropped feather hit the floor on the other side of the room.

When the shock of our appearance wore off, one of the people working in the eatery came over and asked us what we wanted. In our broken German, we managed to tell the person we wanted to eat and we were then escorted to raised table along the back wall of the room. Moments after we sat down, the door opened again, and two men entered the place and took seats near the front. I watched them, and when both were looking my way, I smiled and slowly dipped my head in acknowledgment of their presence. I knew they were probably East German Secret Police (Stasi) assigned to watch us, just like the earlier pair.

As we were being served our food, I saw the pair get up and leave. I figured they knew we had to come out sooner or later and that they would pick us up then. When we finally did finish our meal and walked outside, we realized it was dark and late and we had no idea of where we were. We had to be back at Checkpoint Charlie at midnight or all sorts of things were going to happen which wouldn't be good for us. So we started asking people walking along the sidewalk, the direction Checkpoint Charlie was. Everyone we asked, must have known we were being watched, as they would ignored us and quickly walk away. I was wishing those watching us would show up so I could ask them which direction Checkpoint Charlie was. But after asking a dozen or so people, a party of three came by and we asked them.

The threesome was an elderly gentleman, a young man and a gorgeous woman. When we started to ask in our lousy German, the older man said he spoke English. He then began to tell us how to get back and all involved public transportation of some type which we were not allowed to travel on. And for each mode of transportation he mentioned, I would say, "Can't use it." The first time, he asked me why, and I said, with a smile, "We aren't allowed to use government owned transportation because it supports a government we considered bogus." I guess this guy had gone through this before because he didn't blink an eye, but offered to take us there himself in his automobile. I figured we were safe in traveling that way, and since we had under an hour to go before the clock struck 12, I agreed go in his car.

We went to his house, along with the younger couple, and went inside where we were offered something to drink, which I declined, and where attempts to make small talk were made, which I discourage by asking when he was going to take us to the checkpoint. Finally he said we should go, so we got up and went outside. There, in front of his house was parked his car. In front of his car was also parked three East German green and white police cars and behind his car were another three green and whites of the local police. I began to wonder what was going to happen, but got in the older man's car, along with my friend, and the good looking East German gal and her companion. We then started to move as soon as the police cars started to move. We were getting a police escort to Checkpoint Charlie. I could only imagine what would happen when a small P.O.S. East German car pulled up along the gate at Checkpoint Charlie with six police cars and my friend and I got out and walked back into West Berlin.

Well, it never happened. We got a block away from Checkpoint Charlie and the police cars in front made a right hand turn and headed down a dark street. Now, one thing we were told was to not cross a meter wide white stripe which went around East Berlin, about 50 meters from The Wall. We were told it marked the kill zone. Enter that area, and you are fair game for the armed guards in the watch towers along The Wall. Earlier that day, my friend and I experience the fear the line brought in the face of a young child who accidentally kicked a soccer ball across it. He carefully, and slowly walked across the line, picked up his ball and joined his friends.

Now, were we in a car, surrounded by police, and that line was getting closer and closer in the front window. I was bracing for the bullet impacts the moment we flew across the line. None came. We stopped about 20 feet inside the kill-zone, and got out of the car. I watch the East German policemen get out of their cars and disappear into the shadows around us. When the driver came over to us, I asked where Checkpoint Charlie was. He pointed to a gap between two buildings and said "Right through there." I started to move in that direction when Ernst (that was his first name) began to make small talk. I figured since we weren't dead and since the police still hadn't dragged us off to some gulag somewhere, that he was connected in some way or another with the Stasi.

So with each question he asked, a smart remark of "Can't tell ya." came back from me and my friend. Finally, he said goodbye, pointed us towards the gap and wished us well. I said bye to him and the other two, and then said goodbye to the policemen around us. We then passed through the gap.

Waiting for us on the other side were East German border guards. Their AK-47s were held at their waist and the muzzles were pointed in our direction. I glanced over the barriers which blocked the roadway between the cities and saw we had the attention of the guards on the west side of The Wall. After a few moments, a Soviet officer, a major if I remember correctly, walked towards us. When he arrived, I saluted him sharply and asked him if his goons could let us go back "to the land of the free and the home of McDonalds." He barked something at them, to which they turned and disappeared into the shadows (the East Germans were good at that). He then escorted us to the pedestrian gate and started in with the small talk.

As we arrived at the gate which lead through The Wall and into West Berlin, he asked what we thought of our visit to East Berlin. I offered to tell him all about it at McDonalds (which was right up the road and visible from where we were standing) and even offered to pay for his meal, but wouldn't accept my offer. So, I turned to him and said, "It was fun here, but I will be glad to get back into the good side of The Wall." He nodded slightly, barked something to someone somewhere and a second later, the remote lock on the gate made some noise and it swung open.

My friend and I walked through, then over to the guard shack on the American side of Checkpoint Charlie where we answered a few questions, said we were okay and asked the best way to get to Templehof. Back at the airport, we were bombarded with questions from our fellow editors until the long day finally caught up with all of us and we turned in.

I was happy to be back in West Berlin and away from the oppression of East Berlin. I was also sad I wasn't going to be able to mess with people's minds for a while. But I knew we were going to get a tour of East Berlin and I would get another chance to become an international incident.

But I'll save that for another post in a couple of days.

Great Day on the High Desert

2007-07-25T23:41:00.000-07:00

What a great day it was on the high desert. It was an almost cloudless sky and the temps rose to the low 90s. My kind of weather. 8v)

I decided I would hop on the old bicycle and head out to some of my favorite shooting spots and see what was there to shoot. I went to an area of Fireman's Pond which I call Dragonfly Corner and wasn't disappointed with my decision.

I obtained images of a male and female bluet doin-et. 8v) At one point, the female can be seen depositing eggs. I tried to get a shot of the special moment, but not sure I did. There was a lot of wind making keeping focus difficult. But I also came across what I thought was a female Blue-eyed Darner also laying eggs. I did get some good shots of that. There were also some other decent bugs in the area.

One of them -- actually two of them -- were what I am thinking now might be Blue Dashers, gave me a few good views which were good enough to knock off a few images. I originally thought the bugs were Western Pondhawks. After transferring the images to my computer and giving them a quick look-see, I'm not sure of the identification and figure it could be a Blue Dasher. And that in and of itself is interesting.

It's interesting because earlier today I was discussing the Blue Dasher with someone in, I believe, Florida. I had not seen one before today, and really didn't know they were in this area. However, the picture doesn't lie and if it is what I think it is, it is something new for me.

All that leads me to one conclusion...the right place at the right time. I never would have gotten the images of the bluets doing their thing if I had gone earlier, or decided to walk to the pond instead of riding the bicycle. Nor would I have gotten the possible darner female laying eggs. I might have gotten the dasher, or whatever it is. But then, I might not have.

Life is filled with moments which come once in a lifetime. I know mine is. I'll never circumnavigate the North Pole with RAF College at Cromwell, like I did in 1982. I'll never search for a lost person in an Arctic blizzard like I did 1983. I'll probably never experience another volcanic eruption like I did in 1980 and 1991, even though I live in an area where I am surrounded by volcanoes.

Although 99.9999 percent of the people would think my life is the most boring P.O.S. life any active person could have, I don't care. Sure, my computer knows me better than anyone else does, but I get occasional calls from family, and even a few calls from friends, but I don't care. And yes, my life would be a lot better if there was a good woman keeping me on my toes (interested Jessica?), but I don't care.

After all, it's my life and love it...especially when a great day like today comes along.

Not Cheesy Hollywood, But Real Life Disasters

2007-07-22T00:35:00.000-07:00

I just finished watching one of those cheesy Hollywood disaster flicks. This one was Atomic Twister. It was an interesting twist on a tried and true disaster...the tornado.

The plot was a tornado hitting a nuclear power station, not once, but twice, causing a condition which could lead to a meltdown. Of course there were subplots all over the place and everything came out on the good side at the end. Sharon Lawrence was about the only redeeming grace in the flick. She's still a hottie.

I always watch these types of movie with a bit of humor mixed with a bit of reality. You see, I went through my own Hollywood-style disaster, but it wasn't a movie.

If all you ever do is read my blog entries, you've learned a lot about the reality of my life. Sixteen years ago, I was closing out my military career, preparing to retire. I was working at what was considered one of the best assignments in the Air Force, Clark AB, The Philippines. Not long after I arrived there, the paradise it was died and a number of ugly monsters took over.

First, there was the assassination of two airmen just outside of the base by a group of lawless thugs who called themselves the NPA (New People's Army). After that happened, travel restrictions were put in place which made exploring the P.I. next to impossible. A couple of months after the shootings, a 7.8 earthquake rumbled through the area, killing quite a few, while destroying more buildings north of us than in our area. It also scared a lot of people on the base.

It hit somewhere around 4:30 pm in mid July, 1990. I had worked some overtime in the office and had gone out to the bus stop to wait for the shuttle bus to my barracks. I was talking to two Filipina women when I felt the primary wave of the quake and before I could say "Earthquake," everything was rocking and rolling. It was strong enough to knock me on my ass. I sat there on the pavement, bouncing up and down and watched pressure waves move through the building across the street. It was a cinder block building and I could actually see the waves moving the blocks up and down as the wave passed by.

I remembered seeing that same thing happen in Italy. I hadn't been at Aviano AB in the northeastern Italy more than a month or two, when an earthquake hit. It rumbled in at about 6.0 on the Richter Scale just as I was reaching for my cup of coffee. Several months earlier, the area was rocked with a series of much stronger quakes which destroyed many buildings in the area. People were a little gun shy by the time I got there.

When this quake hit, I watched my coffee cup dance across the desktop and when it clicked what was happening, I stood up. Right in front of me, about 10 feet away was a cinder block wall, part of the overall cinder block construction of the building I worked in which held my office. I was amazed then to see the cinder blocks actually bending with the seismic waves as they moved through the building. I stood there enthralled with what I was seeing until it ended, then casuallyv walked out of the building...the last person to leave it.

Well, I was watching the same thing in the Philippines and it still amazed me how it could happen and the blocks not crumble to dust. The shaking of the quake in the P.I. lasted a good minute or so. When it was finished, I stood up, dusted myself off, excused myself from the frightened women I had been talking to, and hurried back to my office. I knew I would be needed and I was. I didn't get home that night until around 3 am and was assigned as command post night shift coordinator for my office.

Things regarding the earthquake calmed down about two weeks later, and life in the P.I. appeared like it would soon get back to normal. However, because of a continuing threat from the thugs, the area of Angeles City Americans were allowed to visit was drastically reduced. Not much was available outside of strip bars and honky-tonks of various repute. But then, several months after the quakes, that area was again placed on the restricted list, as a strike by the local national employees at Clark, locked down the base. We weren't allowed off-base unless we lived off-base and no local national was allowed on base. This lasted a week or so before it was settle and things got back to a strange normal.

Christmas and the new year arrived with a bit of relaxation in restrictions most people assigned to Clark had been living with for six months. It was a welcome change. There was an incident regarding me and several "thugs," which I will most likely relate some other time, but otherwise, the holidays were quiet.

Then on April 2, 1991 (April Fools Day still for the U.S.), I walked outside the barracks to get on my bicycle and go to work. As I unlocked my bike from the rack, I looked up and towards the mountains west of the base. We were several weeks into the dry season at the time and I was curious about a plume of pure white smoke rising from near the peak of one of the mountains. I pulled out my camera and took several photos, got on my bike and went to work.

The next day, word came down that the smoke I saw the day before wasn't smoke at all, but steam. It came from a volcano, which for whatever reason, decided to activate. This volcano was between five and ten miles from the base, depending on where you were on base. But hearing that didn't surprise me, nor another office worker.

Several months after the earthquake, I began feeling some strange vibrations. These vibrations were coming from right underneath my feet and they were definitely confusing me. I would feel them for hours straight, then they would stop for a while, and again continue. One afternoon, we were in a staff meeting when the vibrations began again. I backed away from the table and looked down at the floor, then around the room and finally at the rest of the people in the room. No one seemed to be feeling what I was feeling, but there was one person who was looking at me curiously.

After the meeting that person came over to me and asked me if I felt anything. I told her and she said she has been feeling the same thing. We both knew what it was...it was magma moving below us. The two of us were sensitive enough to feel the slight vibrations of the movement. When we mentioned it to others, they thought we were nuts and it was forgotten, but not by the two of us.

The day it was verified that Mt. Pinatubo was now an active volcano, Marge and I talked. We both thought the most likely candidate for activation would have been Mt. Arayat, an extinct volcano east of the base. But Pinatubo was good also. No one really knew anything about the mountain, so the Philippines Geological Survey folks called the US Geological Survey folks and two organizations set up a headquarters on Clark to watch the mountain.

Flash forward a couple of months to mid June. Clark AB had been evacuated, the mountain had erupted several times, and I was one 1,200 people who stayed behind to protect U.S. property and interests on base. On the day of the first eruption of the mountain, a throat-clearing blow as it was labeled by the volcanologists, a typhoon began that had developed in the Pacific began moving our way. Weather folks on base began keeping an eye on it and it wasn't long before it turned into a super typhoon. It also started making a beeline for the base.

Well, now we had a typhoon to watch, along with the mountain. Forecasts had the typhoon hitting the base mid morning sometime on June 15, 1991. Plans were made for its approach, factoring in the volcano, and in the early morning hours of the predicted date of the typhoon hitting the base, the mountain decided it had had enough waiting time. It blew just as the typhoon hit. Not only was Clark being pummeled by winds from a typhoon and ash from an erupting volcano, but the volcano's eruption was causing an earthquake. It wasn't a powerful quake, but strong enough to be felt on Clark. And it lasted hours.

In the interim, the lucky 1,200 had evacuated to the base of Mt. Arayat to wait out the eruption and the typhoon. While there, quakes constantly rumbled through the area, some strong ones, and one really strong one. Rain was coming down, mixed with volcanic ash, giving the term "raining mud" a whole new meaning. After the typhoon had run its course, and the quakes on Clark had subsided a bit, and the volume of ash being released by the mountain lowered, a new world emerged. A world of gray and of trees stripped of all leaves and a gray sky clouded with suspended volcanic ash. Towards the mountain, a wall of blackness hung and moved northward and eastward covering the closest parts of the base to it, with a wall darkness, dubbed "The Dark Side of the Moon."

These conditions lasted until the raining season began which brought lahars (flash floods of ash and debri moving down the mountain along the rivers surrounding the base). During one particular nondescript rainfall, I had dropped some people off at the main gate to the base and was heading back to my office, when as I rounded a curve, a wall of water mixed with mud and stones roared across the roadway. It took me by surprise and splashed around enough to kill the engine of the van I was driving. I attempted to restart the engine and failed. Each attempted failed and all the while, the water was pushing the van towards the curve. On the other side of the curve was a large drainage ditch about 12 feet deep. I knew if I didn't get the engine started, the water would sooner or later dump the vehicle over the edge, with me in it.

So I continued trying to start the engine. It finally caught and I continued on my way. Later, I went by the same spot I was almost stranded at and saw that some of the curbing had washed away. Whether it happened while was stuck there or not, I don't know, but it had me wondering.

Living with a volcano next door isn't fun. But it can be exciting. That was about the last strange thing that happened to me personally, but not the last to happen to the base. Lahars and mudflows had knocked down all the bridges surrounding the base, isolating our area by road. The "big water" as the Philippinos called the flows, had also eroded away the banks of the rivers and many houses and buildings, including one hospital, had fallen to the erosion. Most of the erosion was happening on the opposite side of the rivers from the base, but one day that changed.

Word came down that areas under million gallon storage tanks of fuel was causing a concern. It was possible the erosion could undermine the foundation of the tanks and cause them to tumble over, ripping open, adding an even more to the catastrophe. Luck was with us and it didn't happened, at least not while I was there. In the end, the eruption of Mt. Pinatubo caused more than just disaster to the P.I. It lowered global temperatures, destroyed crops and lands for years as ash washed down during the rainy season.

But it was a disaster like no other. It turned me into a refugee, something I never thought would happen, and gave a lot of people a new respect for Mother Nature.

I had always had that respect...you see, this was my second volcanic disaster. As for Hollywood disaster movies...well, they still bring a smile to my face. Living through a real one only they could dream up, makes life a sweeter.

Cowtown Memories

2007-07-13T13:42:00.000-07:00

Last night I watched the second part of the premiere of a game show called Don't Forget the Lyrics or something like that. Congrats to the hot gal who won $350,000 by remembering the words to songs I barely remember.

The last song that the gal selected was a Rolling Stones song, "I Can't Get No Satisfaction" and it made me flash back a long way.

It was the mid 70's, probably 1975, and I was stationed at Lackland AFB, in San Antonio, Texas. Concert going was a way of life for me and a friend, and when it was announced that the Rolling Stones would appear in concert for the first time in something like 12 years, we secured decent tickets to the event and patiently waited for the day the group rolled in.

As the day of the concert approached, news outlets began talking about their last appearance in town. The Stones had played at, I believe, a fair in San Antonio where they were booed off the stage. Upon leaving town, Mick Jagger declared he and his crew would never play what he called, "Cowtown," ever again. Well, obviously, they had changed their mind. It was a new town, a new era and, well, money is money, no matter what town supplied it, and the Stone accepted a two date engagement in Cowtown.

On the evening of the first concert day, my friend and I arrived at the stadium (I don't remember where the concert was being held) and found our seats. We had selected front row, mezzanine seating, over-looking the stage from a good angle. We enjoyed the warm-up music while the Stones prepared for their portion of the night off-stage, and when the time came for them to play, there was a delay. Again, I don't remember the length of the delay, but it wasn't short, nor was it excessively long.

After a few minutes of stadium shaking calls for the Stones, they appeared on stage and began their show. Of course, one of the songs was "I Can't Get No Satisfaction," the reason for the flashback. But I don't really remember the song...nor do I remember any of the other songs the Rolling Stones sang that first evening, during their first appearance in San Antonio, since they were more or less run out of town on a rail 12 years earlier.

But what I do remember, was what happened midway through the last song of their encore.

As I hung on the railing overlooking the stage about 100 feet or so away, a trap door opened on the left side. Jagger was singing and prancing around the stage as he was, and maybe still, want to do when I noticed the opening. And just as I did, something began to rise from the stage.

It was a huge condom...sort of. It was flesh colored, three and half to four feet in diameter and at least 20 feet high. There was no reservoir at the tip, but there was a nicely form head, giving the inflated object the look of a perfectly formed penis, erect and ready for action. And what action followed!

Jagger then strutted his way over to the erection and as the final song of the evening ended, he straddled the phallic symbols, he began a mock hand-job on it and yelled out, "This is for you, COWTOWN!" He continued his mockery for a few moments, then pranced to center stage just as the song finished, bowed and the lights went out and they were gone.

There was a very brief moment of stunned almost-silence in the stadium while everyone's brain attempted to comprehend what had just happened. I was laughing my ass off, as was my friend. We turned and looked at each other and continued to laugh as the roar for more gained volume and when it was obvious nothing more would happened (the lights in the stadium coming on was a sure-fire sign things were finished), we began filing out.

The next day, the news was ablaze with the story of the "Jagger Jack-off" of the night before. Some thought it was cool, others thought it was going to far. In the end, the Stones were banned from recreating the incident during the second night concert and from what I heard, it didn't happen. What did happen, I don't know, or knew and don't remember. But whatever it was, it could in no way, top what happened that first night.

If that happened in this day and age, it would be the talk of the internet with cell phone videos of it all over YouTube and elsewhere. But it didn't happened recently...it happened some 30 odd years ago.

I'm just glad I was there to witness it.

High Desert Heat?

2007-07-10T23:22:00.000-07:00

It's been hot in the Pacific Northwest and the High Desert is living up to its name.

I know most of the country has been either hot and wet, or hot and not wet. We have been hot and dry and it will probably stay that way for a while. Beginning Wednesday, there is a prediction of thunderstorms. On the east side of Oregon, that means dry lightning, which means wildfires. There have already been at least two near where I live, a third burning east of me and a bunch even further east.

With the low humidity and high temps, everything is dried out to the point of being a hair's width away from spontaneous combustion. But that is a price people pay for living here. You learn to put up with fires, smoke in the air, fires, high temps and low humidity in the summer, and did I mention fires?

I ain't going to go into a tirade about global warming. But I will say we are in the midst of climate change. I have seen information regarding whether its natural or human caused, but hell, ain't nothing I can do about it...so I might as well enjoy it while I can.

Take today (Tuesday, July 10) for instance. Around 1:30 pm, I packed up the saddlebags on my bicycle, and headed out. It was around 90 or 91 at the time, so I began my trip by heading to Fireman's Pond. It's a favorite place of mine to shoot dragonfly photos, and sometimes birds and damselflies. I spent about 30 minutes standing around Dragonfly Corner (an area of the pond where a lot of Odonata hang out) and only saw Eight-spotted Skimmers. I thought I saw something else, but it was such a quick sighting, I couldn't tell if it was different or not.

Anyway, I decided to head out and went to the airport to check out the action there. At the Forest Service fire center, a fire-bombing Neptune was arriving from somewhere. I watched it taxi in, shut down and while all that was happening, I fired off a few shots. But the action quickly died down and I was off again. I planned to go to the terminal area at Roberts Field, but changed my mind when the only aircraft there worth shooting, taxied out and took off as I was heading over there. I did manage to snap off a few shots of Army Blackhawk helicopters which passed by, but that was about it.

So instead of heading to the terminal, I decided I would check out the airport industrial area. I peddled my fat ass around there for a while seeing what was new and what I already knew and when I got to the end of the area, I stopped at the intersection of the main road and debated with myself as to which direction to travel. One way took me back the direction I came from and the other not the direction I came from.

Being the adventurous, fat-ass I am, I decided to head away from where I came. So I got in the bike lane on Airport Way and headed south. Now remember, it's in the 90s, close to 93 at that time, I'm peddling my bike on the open road under the hot sun and what do I see? A bunch of people driving by in their air-conditioned vehicles...that's what 8v) It doesn't bother me when I see people in their cars all clammed up, staying cool. What does bother me is the looks I get traveling along the road on a day like today. What does it matter to those who see me what I do? I need the exercise and I enjoy the heat.

Well, I continued on my way, and rounded a curve and there in front of me was a nice downgrade, leading of course, to an uphill hump on the other side. One look at me, and folks figure I am just what I look like, an out-of-shape, fat-ass. But I hit that downhill, built up some speed and when I started up the hill on the other side, I got about a quarter of the way up before I lowered my peddling gear. Another quarter of the way, I lowered it again. I went from 8 on the downhill to 3 at the top of the hill on the other side, and never missed a beat.

I went on for a couple of more miles, this time going north, towards home and a nice, comfortable Lazyboy. The only stop I made was at a local department store. There was a shady bench along the side of the building. I stopped and sat there for about five minutes (had to give my buns a bit of a rest from the bicycle seat) and drank some of my ice water -- yes, I had ice water. I keep a frozen bottle of water in my freezer and when I go out on hot days, take it with me. If I am riding the bike, it goes in a box I have lined with insulating material and a cover and that box goes into one of the saddlebags on the bike. The other side saddlebag generally carries my camera.

When I had drank enough water, I walked my bike a ways (didn't want to start cramping up from exercising and then not exercising suddenly), got on it a few minutes later and headed the final mile or so home.

Although I didn't get any really great photos, I did get a lot of exercise. Learned I could do things I thought I couldn't do, and made some people wonder if I am currently suffering from a heart attack. I figure I traveled about 10 miles all total, was out for about two and half hours and am stinging just a little from where my sunscreen was a bit thin.

But I don't care...it was a great day, and there will be more to come...I hope.

Where's your ball?

2007-06-22T00:58:00.000-07:00

Something happened today which made me flash back many years and run through a list of happenings I know is longer than I remember.

What happened was a simple request. My landlord has a dog, a beautiful Australian Shepard name Lacy. Every morning when I go into my kitchen to make my coffee, there is Lacy, staring into the window. And every morning, I say hi to the dog and she cocks her head and goes about doing something.

However, this morning, after I said hi, she just sat there looking at me with sad eyes. I turned on my coffee maker and said out the window, "Where's your ball? Find your ball, and we will play catch." Well, Lacy immediately took off for another part of her area and just as quickly, returned with her ball in her mouth. She then dropped it and started nudging it with her nose.

I knew immediately what happened. She understood me and from her body language, I understood her. So I went out and played catch with her for about an hour. But while I tossed the ball and attempted to wrestle it from the mouth of Lacy, I thought back to strange animal encounters I have had.

The first one I recalled, is at my Great Grandparents place. I was little, maybe five or six, if that, and their neighbor had a pet crow. Everyone went over to pet the crow, except me. I headed for the car since we were leaving. I got five feet from the car and the crow took off, landed on my shoulder and started pecking on my head. Of course, I got scared and started to cry...and the crow continued hammering away on me until someone ran over and took it off me. I got in the car and never looked back.

Years later (and a number of insignificant animal encounters), I was visiting my cousins. We went to someone's farm and were checking out the animals there. We got the corral with the horses and there was one horse out. I was told that horse hated everyone except one person. I don't remember that one person, but that person was the only person who could get close to the horse. We then left and went inside to eat. When we finished, I decided I would go outside and I went to the corral. There was the mean horse, staring at me with its big, brown eyes, standing in the middle of the corral. So, like an idiot, I climbed through the log fence and walked up to the "Terror of the Farmland." To my surprise, the horse didn't do anything. I rubbed her (his) neck, scratched her nose and chest and in return, she snuggled her nose under my arm.

While I was making friends with the horse, my cousins came up. They were yelling at me to get away from the horse, but I ignored them. I knew I had a friend in that horse. I didn't attempt to ride her, but I am sure I could have barebacked her around that corral and nothing would have happened. As I walked over to fence where my cousins were, I noticed the horse followed me. I began wishing I had a carrot or an apple, or even a sugar cube to give her, but I didn't. So I patted the horse on the side, and climbed back through the fence. When one of my cousins attempted to befriend the horse, the Terror of the Farmland returned and almost bit his hand. Everyone looked at me and I said, "She likes me."

Years later, I was in the Air Force, stationed in Alaska. I was working day shift at the time, and every evening after work, I would hit the dining hall and after chowing down on the great food they served, I would grab an apple and head to my barracks. One evening, I didn't eat the apple, so I put it on the outside window sill of my barracks room. The next morning, I went to get what would then be a nicely chilled, apple and found it missing. Figuring someone walked by, saw it and decided it would be a good start to the morning, I let it go and went to work. Of course, that evening I picked up another apple and again put it on the sill and found it too, was missing the next morning.

Well, I decided I would find out who was taking my apples. Since I was off the next day, I figured I would put an apple out there and watch and see who took it. Sometime during the night, I fell asleep, but woke just as the sun was beginning to lighten things up. I looked and noticed the apple was still there. So, I began my vigil again. It couldn't have been more than 15 minutes when something happened. I watched as a large dark brown nose and huge head came up to the sill, opened its mouth and in one bit, took in the apple. It was a moose. And the lack of antlers told me it was a female moose. I walked to the window and watched as the moose wandered back to the wooded behind the barracks and decided I would get two apples from then on.

I continued to leave an apple on my window sill and every morning, the apple was gone. This went on for weeks until one morning, rather than being awakened by my alarm clock, I was awakened by the noise of a crowd outside my window. I walked over and noticed people with cameras taking pictures. For a moment, I couldn't figure out why anyone would want a picture of my window with me standing in front of it in a white T-shirt. Then I heard someone say, "Look, it's moving." and I peeked out over the sill. Below and to the side of my window was the female moose, but she wasn't alone. She had given birth to two calves right below my window. I got dressed, grabbed my camera and joined the crowd. I was able to get a photo before the base animal control officer arrived and got everyone to leave. For me, it was to work.

When I returned, the space under my window was empty. That night, I put an apple on the sill and went to sleep. The next morning, it was still there. The moose never returned for an apple, but it wasn't the last moose encounter I had in Alaska.

Flash forward a couple of years to San Antonio, Texas when I stationed at Lackland AFB. I was editor of The Talespinner, the base newspaper, and for a safety article, I put the word out that I wanted to get a photo of a live rattlesnake. A week later, my phone rang and the person on the other end said he had two snakes cornered about two blocks from my office. I grabbed my camera and took off. It wasn't hard to find the place the snakes were. There was a crowd of people in circle about 20 feet in diameter staring somewhere into the middle.

When I arrived, I pushed my way through the people and there was two sergeants with snake poles (or whatever they call those things they catch them with) keeping to coiled, ready-to-strike rattlesnakes at bay.

I walked up to one of the guys and said, "Where did you find them?" He told me and said, "Get your photos quick. I need to return to my office." So I squatted down, focused the camera on one of the snakes and took a picture. I wasn't pleased with the shot, so I moved around to the right and squatted down again. As I lined up my shot, I noticed the snakes (I was trying to get both in the photo) were looking at each person in the circle behind me and as they looked at them, they would flick their tongue and rattle their tail and then move to the next person. As they came around to where I was, I lowered the camera and realized people were saying something to me. It turned out I was very close to striking distance from the snakes. But they were turning their heads towards me and I figured any sudden movement on my part might trigger their defense reflex, so I remained where I was.

When it came time for me to be stared down, the snakes didn't give me a second look. I know, because I was watching the eyes of each one as they turned towards me. There was no fear of me in them...but there was a lot of fear of the people standing behind me. I stayed there for a few moments, then stood up. As I did, I watched the snakes and neither one paid me any attention. I turned, thanked the guy for calling me and went back to my office. I decided not to use the photos and instead printed a staged photo of a stuffed rattler in striking mode.

Moving forward, it was the mid '90s and I was fishing at Prineville Reservoir. It was a hot day and where I was, the sun was beating down like a sledge hammer. So I decided I would go up the bank 15 feet or so and sit in the shade of a Juniper tree. I could watch my pole from there and not worry about the back of my neck becoming well-done. After about 10 minutes, I heard a sound above me and felt a rush of air pass over me. I lifted my head and looked up and to my surprise, no more than five, maybe six feet directly above me, had landed a Golden Eagle. About the time I started to look up, the eagle decided it would look down...and it did. There I was eyeball-to-eyeball with a wild, beautiful, Golden Eagle.

I started to smile and just as I cracked the corner of my mouth, the eagle spread its wings, lowered itself into launch position and took off. But before it did, it let loose with a load of crap which hit the back of my hat. I watched it gain altitude and fly out of sight over a nearby hillside. I then got up, walked to the lake side, washed my hat, rung it out, put it on, packed up my gear and went home. I figured nothing could top what had just happened.

I don't know if anything of these incidents mean anything, but I like to think they do. I have had many other encounters and all of them have ended the same way...me walking away wondering what happened.

About the time I finished flashing to the eagle incident, I went to toss the ball and Lacy decided she would get an early start on catching it, so she leaped at the ball...still in my hand. She got the ball, but also got part of my hand.

Darn that dog...

Accidents, Walls and Fine Looking Women

2007-06-19T11:06:00.000-07:00

Last night, I was trying to fix my desktop computer. There was a time when I enjoyed doing that sort of thing. But after seeing so many systems of mine (and others) just stop working for no apparent reason, I got tired of it. But there comes a day in every person's life when they have to roll up the shirt sleeves and dig in. So there I was...staring at an add-on card, trying to figure out if I really needed it or not, when...BAMMM!! BASH!!!!

The sound came from the window next to my computer. Like a sober St. Nick, I leaped from cheap computer desk chair, lifted my Venetian blinds and peered out. But what to my normal, saline filled eyes did appear, but a steaming pick-up with its front-end smashed up. Its hood was raised in a salute to all, and a person staggered by, probably wondering what happened.

It was obvious to me. Someone driving very stupidly, ran into the rear end of my landlord's son's pick-up which was parked in front of the house where I rent a small, but livable space containing most of my earthly possessions. I slipped into my shoes and head out my door and there I came across Lacy running back and forth, scared to the point of almost ignoring me...which in and of itself, is very strange.

I did my best to calm her down in my normally, soothing, gentle voice (I know...don't laugh...I'm not called "Bear" for nothing) and headed around front. Just as I got there, things were heating up. I could hear a very upset voice near the truck which was hit, yelling something I won't repeat here. Under the shadowy, back light of the street light, I could see the rear-end of the that truck smashed in and a dog peering over the side. And I knew I wasn't needed. As I headed back in my place, I stopped and let Lacy loose. She followed me into my house (with a lot of coaxing) and went into her normal, "What's New...What's New" mode.

When tow trucks and cop cars began showing up outside, Lacy didn't pay any attention to them, or the noise they were making. She was exploring, looking for something new to eat, play with, check out, tear apart, or whatever it was she felt like doing to it at the time. Hopefully, she (the dog) became accustomed to those sounds and if some stupid driver hits the only vehicle parked on the side of the road in front of our place again, she won't be as scared as she was last night.

What happened last night was stupid. The driver of the lethal weapon pick-up simply let his attention span lapse for a split moment and something happened. Stupid, but it's not like none of us have ever done anything stupid while driving around. I know I have.

Just after I got my driver's license 40 year's ago (yes...back in the stone age), I took my sisters to a party or something at Bullfrog Lake in the Forest Preserves of the Chicago area where I lived. After dropping them off in the parking lot, I turned the car to make a U-turn and get out of the lot when I saw a young woman I had a crush on. I was halfway through the turn when I saw Vickie and stopped the turn as my eyes followed her as far as they could...well, I was abruptly reminded I was driving a car when an impact occurred. Snapping my head forward, I found myself looking up into the blue summer sky.

Confused, I went to get out of the car and realized the ground was much lower than normal...and the front end of the car a lot higher than normal. And then there was that three foot high cement wall the front left tire was sitting on. I squatted down to look and think things over and lit a cigarette. A few minutes later, someone appeared on top of the wall and asked if I had a jack. I did and we jacked up the front left side of the car sitting on top of that three foot high wall and when it was high enough, pushed the car off the jack. The car landed back on the parking lot surface, ready to drive away, the jack waiting to be put away next to the car.

I thanked the man on top of the wall, who said, "Don't be so stupid while driving a car," then he turned and walked off. I got in the car, started the engine, put it in drive and pressed the accelerator pedal. To my dismay, the car wanted to turn left on its own. I drove the 20 or so miles home, fretting every minute.

When I got there, I told my dad I hit something with the car and now it turned to the left. He asked what I hit and I said a chunk of cement in my path. I didn't tell him it was a three foot high wall, nor did I mention how the car was put back on the driving surface. When he went out to see the damage, there was none on the bumper or the fender, but when you looked at the car from the front, you could see the left wheel was toed outward.

That was the first accident I was involved in. But it wasn't the last time I stared at a fine woman walking by where I was driving. Try not to do it while driving along the nude beaches of the French Riviera.

Typos? What Typos?

2007-06-17T00:57:00.000-07:00

It's been almost a month since I posted an entry in this blog. I have been sharing bloggin' time between here and MySpace. And when I'm not bloggin', I'm shootin' and when I'm not shootin' I'm processin' and when I'm not processin' I'm generally doin' nothing.

That is the extent of my life these days. Not much to it, but I like it. Yes, it could be better. Jessica Beal could be my next door neighbor, or I could be able to go anywhere I want to shoot the photos I want. But she ain't and I can't...so I don't worry about it.

Hell, I can't even afford to get my desktop system working properly. And when it doesn't work correctly, I am forced into using a laptop which is almost as old as I am. And I can't stand the keyboard. My desktop system has one of those ergonomic keyboards. I love that keyboard. I hate straight keyboards. I spend almost as much time fixin' typos as I do typin' words worth typin'.

I hate typos. During my Air Force career, I was assigned as the editor of a couple of base newspapers. My first one was stateside and for the most part, when I submitted copy which had typos, the typesetter would correct them. She was great like that. She was also hot...but taken.

Then I was assigned to Aviano AB, Italy. I loved that assignment. As editor of The Vigileer, I had a lot of responsibility in that position, especially since I was the only staff member. But the worst part was fixin' the typos. Some English words are very similar to Italian words. So, when the typesetters saw a similar word, they typed the Italian word out of habit. It didn't happen all the time, but it happened often enough to keep me on my toes. I generally caught almost all the typos. Some did get by me, but I rarely had one on the front page...until a week in September 1976.

Just prior to my arrival in Italy, a series of large earthquakes struck the region. Close to a thousand people died in the strongest quake. Towns were in a shambles and most of the damage was in the towns surrounding Aviano. The people in the area knew what killed the majority of the people. It was buildings falling on them.

So when another fairly strong quake hit on the day my newspaper copy was being set, the typesetters decided they didn't want to be in the building they worked in until they were sure it was safe. That meant waiting until the next day, then making sure the building was still standing. But my timetable had taken a hit...it was a day behind schedule. When I arrived at the publishers to layout the paper, none of my set copy had arrived. At this point in time, my newspaper was hot lead. Each line of type was formed on a strip of lead. The letters, the words, the pictures, everything about the newspaper was mirrored so it would print correctly. When I looked at the columns of type as they were in the boards, the letters of each word was reversed. Normally, I would run some ink over the plate, press a large sheet of paper on it, and then take the proof sheet back to the base and proofread the paper that evening. But I was behind schedule, and in order to publish the paper on Friday, I had to make some decisions.

As I was trying (my Italian wasn't that good and no one spoke English at the printing plant) to explain my decision, another shaker rumbled through the area. I watched as everyone in the plant ran out the large double doors about 30 feet away from me. I watched as dirt fell from the ceiling rafters, I watched as the lights swung back and forth and I watched the last of the workers and followed her gorgeous body out of the building.

Here it was Wednesday morning, the newspaper needed to be "put to bed" that evening so it could be printed on Thursday and distributed around the base and town on Friday. It had been drilled into me that an editor NEVER missed a publishing date. Well, not long after we exited the building, the typesetter's (their building was about a half mile way) delivery man arrived with the first run of copy. I did the best I could to proofread what I had, marked the mistakes and sent the changes back to the typesetters. A couple of hours later, another tremor rumbled through the area. Well, that did it. Everyone quit working and went home.

The owner of the printing plant said if I was there early in the morning, he would make sure everything was done by noon so the paper could get printed and delivered on time. So, the next morning, I was at the typesetters at 6 am...and they weren't. I waited around for about 30 minutes and then went to the printing plant. As I walked in the door, yet another quake shook the area. After hanging around outside for a couple of hours and noticing the building wasn't coming down on top of us, we all went back inside. I told the owner about the typesetters and he called their office. No one answered. He then called the typesetter boss at home and talked to him for a few minutes.

When the owner hung up the phone, he told me that the typesetter's building sustained some damage the day before and his workers were off until the building could be repaired the next week. Now remember, no one there spoke English, but a man who worked in bar a couple of buildings down did and that is where we went to talk over the situation. With a cup of Cafe Correcto and some sort of pastry, the three of us talked...one translating what the owner and myself said. In the end, I called my office, explained the situation to my supervisor told him I would do what I could to fix the typos, and get the paper out Friday morning when it should hit the street. Since we had no idea of when things would return to normal, he agreed and told me to get the paper out on time.

Well, I did the best I could to fix the typos, especially those on the front page. And I got the paper out on time. But at a cost. During the lunchtime, a lieutenant who I had never met walked into my office and plopped a copy of the paper on my desk. He had circled every typo he found in the paper in red ink. As he dropped the paper, he said, "I have a degree in journalism and I would have rather died than put out a piece of shit paper like you did, sergeant. What have to say for yourself." I looked at the lieutenant and said, "Talk to my boss, sir. Captain So-and-so will return from lunch shortly." He left without saying another word.

I unfolded the paper he dropped in front of me and started counting. On the front page alone, there were 17 typos. I knew there would be a lot since I couldn't fix all of them the day before, but I didn't think there were that many. Looking through the rest of the paper, there were a total of 122 typos. Normally, I would have three or four in my eight page tabloid. I reached for my roladex and got the number for my counterpart at higher headquarters and called him to relay the news about my paper. After talking to him, and explaining the situation, he understood and said he wouldn't count the paper against me. I vowed then and there that I would do everything I could to get rid of typos in things I type.

But they still get through and this friggin keyboard isn't helping...hehe.

But you know, the worst part of the story above is this: I put out 24 issues a year (skipped New Years and Christmas weeks). In early December of that earthquake ridden year, headquarters for the Air Force announce the dates of the mandatory newspaper submissions for the annual media contest. You guessed it...my earthquake ravaged edition was one of the mandatory submissions. Naturally, I didn't win any awards that year.

What's Life with a Senior Moment or Two?

2007-05-18T12:00:00.000-07:00

I was out shooting again yesterday. I think I'll try and do it every other day (weather permitting). Besides, it's good for my fat ass.

I got a few new species to add to my collection...a couple of new butterflies and a few fly type insects. Just before I headed off to my favorite shooting site, I noticed a couple of large bumble bees flirting around in my landlord's flower garden.

One of the two was a species I hadn't seen before, and the other I have only so-so images of that type. I was able to knock of a couple of dozen shots, some of them pretty good based on what I saw in the viewfinder. I generally don't chimp my shots to see what they look like, but I was shooting manual and guessing (from experience) what the shot settings should be. So, I looked at the last image and was happy to see it looked okay.

Feeling good about the exposure of the bee images, I headed off towards the Dry Canyon Trail. Just as I got to the top of the stairs leading down to the trail, I thought, "Did I reformat my CF card since my last photo shoot?"

I looked at the image count on the camera, saw it was about 20 images lower than full capacity, and in a total "senior-moment" reformatted the card to full capacity. I then continued on my merry way wandering the dry canyon area, looking to subjects to shoot.

As I said before, it was a good day...but I had realized at one point that I had forgotten to take along some of my glucose tablets (I am a diabetic) and the lack of sugar in my system was causing my legs to cramp up. So, I did the smart thing and headed home.

Once I got back to the house, and things got back to normal with my legs, I put the CF card in the computer, transfered the images to my computer and began looking at them. I was almost finished looking at the images when I remembered the bumble bee shots and went back to the beginning of the image list. When I saw my first shot was inside the dry canyon, I was confused, until remembered what happened at the top of the stairs at the canyon.

I think the dents on the tabletop of my computer desk still visible.

Now, I am waiting for FedEx to delivery my repaired lens to me. I sure do miss that lens. As I mentioned in a post a while back, it's the Canon EF 70-300 stabilized, which replaced the EF 75-300 stabilized which I used in the interim. The older lens is slower in focus and not as sharp, plus the stabilization in the new lens is slightly better. I'll be glad to get the lens back and on my camera.

The Eyes of Texas are in My Photos

2007-05-16T18:59:00.000-07:00

I have been working on my Texas pics and posting them on Flickr. It's a slow process of select the best image, work it over until I am satisfied, locate an identification on the subject, upload the image, title and describe it, ok it, then go on to the next one.

Depending on the image, that can take between 30 minutes and several hours. I even spent four days trying to ID one critter in my early uploading days.

I don't mind...I learn a lot on each image I search for identities, so it's a win-win situation. A person can never know too much, which is a hell of a lot better than not knowing enough.

I also redid one of those MySpace things. I always wondered why my nephew has sooo many women on his site. But I don't anymore. He must "approve" everyone of those spamming hussies he gets a request from...hehehe. I have declined at least a dozen already. If those gals really looked at my profile and/or really looked at my photo, they never would have sent me the request. Well...maybe they would...but a pic of a hot, sexy slut begging me to approve her as one of my friends just ain't what I am about.

Now, if they would knock on my door, well, that's a different story.

Home Again

2007-05-02T11:38:00.000-07:00

I probably should have updated this a couple of days ago, but I didn't. 8v) I am back in Oregon now. San Antonio was fun, humid and stormy. The best part of the trip was seeing family and an old friend I hadn't seen since like 1970 plus or minus a year or two.

The evening I arrived in San Antonio, my brother and his son went to a gathering of amateur astronomers they knew my friend would be at. When we got there, I had a little fun with my old buddy and walked up like I was just an interested person with a question. I asked one, my friend turned around and began to answer when suddenly, I could see things began clicking in his head. It took a moment for him to figure it out, but needless to say, the look on his face was worth it. Sorry Yogie...but I couldn't resist.

I also saw a lot of new birds, bugs and butterflies and got some good photos. However, I had some equipment problems and my photos aren't as good as I hoped they would be. I did however, push my 20,000th image through my Canon Digital Rebel.

I am currently working on the uploadable images and will be posting them to my Flickr photostream when finished. Most of them are of butterflies. The birds in San Antonio knew how to hide from me. The trees were all fully fledged with leaves and I figure the comfort of all that green surrounding them made it a nice place to hide...but that is bad for a photographer with low-end gear. 8v(

Anyway, it might snow tonight in central Oregon. I have a lens to ship off for repairs. And it's time I got it out.

San Antonio, Texas

2007-04-23T10:21:00.000-07:00

Well, I am in San Antonio Texas now, visiting with family and a friend I haven't seen since the early 70s. My first evevning here, he and I met at a meeting of the local astronomy club and spent most of the time reliving old memories.

My main goal here has been nature photography. I have gotten some good images but not as vaired as I hoped for. The weather has played hell on my visit, but should improve before I leave. I'll post my new images when I return to Oregon.

But, for now, I'll enjoy where I am and the people I am with. This is me, signing off for now.

Good Day Shooting

2007-04-06T00:31:00.000-07:00

I was out shooting images again this afternoon. Great afternoon for it. Sunny and warm, but a bit breezy. I got some decent images, which isn't all that bad considering I have recently been shooting in Manual mode. Seems I remember a lot of what I knew before fully automatic cameras came into being. It is fun shooting when you figure out the expose yourself.

One interesting thing happened while I was out on the photo safari...I was in my favorite area, the Dry Canyon Trail, and I had a visitor. I have folks often ask me what I am doing and I tell them what I am shooting. Most look at me weirdly, and go on about their business. Seems photographing bugs isn't an all that well appreciated occupation 8v)

Anyway, this visitor was a young woman who walked up to me while I was sitting on a rock. She wanted to know if I was okay. A kind enough thought. I looked at her and said I was, then told her I was just waiting for a butterfly to return. When she asked me how I knew it would return, I simply said, "It always does." Well, she sat on the rock next to me and I explained what I was talking about. It wasn't much more than five minutes, when a butterfly landed about 15 feet away. It wasn't the Mourning Cloak I was waiting for, but a Zephyr Anglewing. It couldn't have been more than 30 seconds when the Mourning Cloak drifted by and the anglewing took off and attacked it.

They pair circled each other for a few seconds then split and I heard the young woman say, "Cool. It landed right in front of us." There it was, the Mourning Cloak less than six feet away. I fired off six or seven shots before it flew again and I went back to sitting on the rock. The young woman asked if I was going to wait again and I said I was. She said, "Have fun. Butterflies are really cool," and she headed back to the trail and walked off.

I may not have made her a nature lover, but hopefully she now has a better appreciation for the world around her.

One More Time!

2007-03-15T13:30:00.000-07:00

Okay...okay...I know what's going through your mind. You're thinking, "What's this? More than a month without an update and now there are two in a row? Hip Hip Hurray!"

It's true. It's really me two days in a row. I've been sitting here for a while now, waiting on the delivery of a new printer. My old Epson did what Epsons do best and after not using the thing for a week, clogged up on me and I wasted more than a half a tank of ink in each of the four ink tanks and STILL didn't unclog the P.O.S. I got pissed and ordered a Canon. They make good cameras...I hope their printers are as good.

Anyway, the printer was suppose to be delivered yesterday and today I was suppose to be out shooting images to add to my Flickr Photostream. But it wasn't delivered...well, that's not true. The UPS guy or gal showed...I know, I saw the truck as it was leaving. I was here, my landlord was home, her daughter was visiting and the only door in front of the house is right there where the family was. Yet the package for some reason wasn't delivered. Instead, a note was left on the door saying they tried to deliver, but no one was around to accept the package.

So now I have to push my shooting date up another day while I sit around waiting for UPS to arrive, hopefully with a 15 lbs box labeled with my name and address. Normally, the UPS guy or gal leaves packages at the door. But this package requires an in-person signature before it can be released by UPS. Once that is accomplished, I can get back to my planned activities.

Being retired allows for a lot of flexibility in my schedule. If something comes up, I can adjust. No problem...just move things this way or that way...just like I did in the military. I always thought that was one of my best attributes...the ability to see the "big picture" and adjust to it accordingly. Some people I worked for and almost everyone who worked for me, thought I made snap decisions. They were snap decisions, but based on events. My mind could in milliseconds run through events, predict the outcome and based on that information, give me an answer almost before the questions was finished or the description of the event was finished.

I loved being able to do that and have the final decision be the right one 99 percent of the time. But these days, I don't need to be so decisive. My decisions have no where near as much responsibility riding on them. So I take my time, make my decisions slowly and it's the correct decision only 75 percent of the time.

Now, because of a decision several weeks ago not to print something I needed printed, I am sitting around waiting for another printer to arrive because of a decision to replace it and not diligently wait for the UPS guy or gal to arrive with it.

Older doesn't make you wiser...it only makes you care less about your mundane mistakes than you would have cared 10 or 15 years earlier.

Finally! Something to Write About!

2007-03-14T12:45:00.000-07:00

It sure has been a long time since I blogged anything here. I started one a while back but four or five words into it, I was no longer into it.

Weather here has been depressing for the most part and I haven't been able to get out to shoot images...and that really depresses me. The weather is improving and I will be heading out either today or tomorrow. But on the days I did get out recently, there wasn't much to shoot or what I shot didn't come out well.

However, a new addition to the household where I live and it has been keeping me a bit busy. A puppy (see photo) arrived around Christmas time and has made a home outside my door. Strange little critter she is...hehehe. She actually belongs to my landlord's grandson, but I have been training her...and have the bites and scratches and all to show for it.

She's a smart thing. Even at five months she knows when she can get away with something and when she can't. But she is learning fast. She knows when she hears my door click in the morning that I will be out shortly to fill her water bowl. She also knows when she hears my faucet run, that I'll be out soon to refill her water bowl. And, I have seen her tip her bowl over and spill the water, then sit looking in my kitchen window with this look of "come on out and fill it again."

But the best thing about her is she is quiet. She rarely barks and when she does, it's mostly when she is playing with one of her toys. I have been trying to get her to "tell" me when she needs to go outside to do her thing by barking or something. But all she'll do is tug at my pant leg. It gets my attention, so I guess it will do.

Anyway, that's what's been happening in my world...and it will improve. I can't wait for the hot, summer days to return. But to prime myself for them, I'll be heading to San Antonio in mid-April. Good time to be there...birds, butterflies, bugs...all sorts of things to shoot.

Can't wait. 8v)

Photo-lema

2007-02-20T13:17:00.000-08:00

For those of you who haven't looked at my profile, I enjoy photography. These days, I shoot photos of nature. There are a couple of places on the net where I upload my better shots for the world to see. One of those places is Ashrunner's Photo Safaris. I put what I consider my best images there. Some are from my past, but most were shot within the past couple of years.

Another site I post photos to is a nature site. There, photographers from around the world look at your shot, comment on it, critique it and grade it. The site also allows (if the posting photographer allows it) others to workshop the image, or "fix" the photo. I generally don't have a problem with this, as I process my photos to a look I prefer.

However, the critiquing is what I look for. People critiquing other photos say things like, focus is soft, image is washed-out, point-of-view would have been better if..., things like that. But some of what is said, isn't critiquing...at least not in my opinion. When another photographer comments on soft focus, that photographer is basing the comment on his or her equipment. Not all camera gear is created equal. If a photographer wants to take tack sharp images every time he or she triggers the shutter, they need high quality glass...and that costs money. A lot of people can afford such luxuries, but many can't. Every time I read a comment like that, it burns my ass.

Comparing great equipment to average equipment is asinine. What if the originating photographer wanted the image to look soft? What if the originating photographer was doing the best he or she can with the best equipment they can afford, which may or may not be great equipment? Telling someone something they already subconsciously know already is a great way to build animosity and discourage future work. So, if you're a photographer reading this and like to critique the work of other shooters, keep things in perspective when you talk about someone else's work. They may not have the resources you have and are only trying to produce the best image they can with what they got.

But the other things I mentioned above are good to point out. Telling someone how the POV change would have given the image more impact is a great way to improve someone's photography. I learned how to "frame" my shots by shooting, and listening to people when they asked why I did something and their comments to my reply. Constructive criticism is a great learning tool. But it also has to be done in a positive manner. Something like, "I see what you were trying to do with this image. I might have moved to this position to shoot it. Either way, its a good image." The person then looks at the mentioned angle, thinks about it, and it's in the back of their head for the next time they shoot a similar subject. Telling a person something like, "Point of view could have been better," tells that person absolutely nothing.

Then there is the critique about the processing process. That too is subjective to the individuals equipment. Someone who can't afford Photoshop is going to have a hard time duplicating the results of someone who has the program. There are good substitutes out there, but 90 percent of the tutorials on how to do something revolve around the defacto industry standard...not the programs on the fringes. Sure, many of the commands or actions are called the same, but they don't do things as well as Photoshop does. Then there is the hardware. A well calibrated system is going to produce consistently better results over a system which isn't calibrated. Calibrating hardware is available, works wonders, but again, not everyone can afford a good calibrating system. I personally shoot all my shots in AdobeRGB(1998) and process them with the AdobeRGB(1998) ICC profile. Every graphics program I have which allows me to select a color profile to use, has that profile selected. The images are converted to sRGB for uploading on the net.

And monitors aren't the same either. An older monitor may have its brightness fading slowly which is like a child growing. You never really notice it until you leave for a month or so and come back. I have that problem with my monitor. The brightness faded on me...enough to the point where images I post to various sites were washed-out. I never would have know that had someone not mentioned it. But I can't afford a new monitor. So, looking over the "workshop" photos, I realized that most images needed a boost of 20 percent or so in contrast. Once I started doing that, two words left most of my critiques -- washed and out.

For the most part, people mean well when they critique something someone else did. It's hard to look at something you have created in a critical enough way to tear apart the way it looks to the point of improving it. When I was a journalist, I would generally give my article to someone else to proof for me, as I would miss a lot typos simply because I saw what I thought I wrote. It's the same with a photograph. When I process my images, I do it to where I think the image looks best. And herein lies the need for sites where photographers critique other photographers.

But remember if you ever do it to critique style and content, not equipment capability.

What to say...what?

2007-02-19T14:52:00.000-08:00

I was sitting at my computer desk working on some of my digital images when I got to thinking about this blog site I set up. I decided it is time I started putting something here for folks to read.

So, prepare to be astounded 8v) (<-- my own smiley since I wear glasses)

Yesterday was the first race of the NASCAR cup series. Like any race fan, I look forward to the Daytona 500. I also look forward to the first Formula One race, the first Indy Car race and the first Red Bull World Series of Air Racing competition. However, the Daytona 500 is the one which starts a good season of sporting events I enjoy.

The Daytona this year, was a bit boring. I watched the first 20 laps and realized the car changes mandated by NASCAR appeared to affect one of the greatest races of the year. I found myself wondering, "What happened to three-wide racing?" It seemed drivers were stringing out single file, just going along for the ride. But then, in the last 30 laps or so, things started to look more like Daytona.

Now, I also operate two NASCAR fantasy teams. Last year was the first year I did fantasy racing. It was fun, even though I ended up on the tail-end of the standings in both. So this year, I hope to do better. In one league, I participated in an auction for drivers. You get 100 points and bid on a four-driver team. My team this year is Kasey Kahne, Kevin Harvick, Kurt Busch and Reed Sorenson.

As the race progressed, I watched Busch crash out, Kahne fall back and Harvick slowly make his way to the front. With two laps to go in the race, I looked at my first fantasy race of the season and saw that not only was I losing my head-to-head matchup, but I also had the lowest point total of all six teams.

Then there was the final turn of the final lap. Mark Martin and Harvick were side-by-side, drag racing for the win. I could almost see a big grin on the face of both drivers as they glanced towards each other. And then it happened...the Daytona big one. Less than a 1,000 feet to finish line, cars start slamming into each other, one slides toward the finish on its top, some are out in the grass, some along the wall, smoke is everywhere and there, heading to the win are the two leaders.

Harvick won the race, by one of the closest margins in decades. And then, with all the crashing behind them, I looked at my standings. I suddenly went from last to first! I won my H2H and scored the highest point total of all drivers. I am on top in one league. In my other league, I picked five drivers using the same 100 point maximum. Three of them crashed out long before the final lap. In that league, I ended up second to last. But I don't care, it was still fun...and will continue to be fun.

And now, I am even considering joining an Indy car league if I can find one I like. If I do, it will probably be the only way I could ever say, "I had Sarah Fisher."

Behind The Wall

2007-01-29T20:35:00.000-08:00

I added another album to my Flickr photostream and posted a few images to it.

The album is Berlin, October 1977. The photos in that album have deep meaning to me. It was that temporary assignment I went on that shaped the rest of my life. I was considering getting out of the Air Force at that time. I had six months left on my assignment to Aviano AB, Italy and six months left on my contracted service. But then Berlin came along.

The first day I was in then West Berlin for a newspaper editors conference. Myself and the group of Air Force journalists I was with wanted to go see The Wall. We contacted the person who put the conference together and he agreed to show us Checkpoint Charlie and The Wall.

When we arrived there, I spent a good 30 minutes on a platform looking into East Berlin. I watched the ongoing activity of repair to the wall and some of the traps designed to keep East Berliners inside "The Worker's Paradise." After a while, I left the stand and was walking near a small museum dedicated to those who had escaped or attempted to escape the confines of the east and made it to the west. As I stood in the middle of the street looking towards the Allied control point (the famous Checkpoint Charlie) in front of me and border crossing maze further in the distance, an elderly German man walked up to me.

With tears in his eyes, he grabbed my right hand with both of his, and in formal German, thanked me. I looked into his eyes and saw a person who was glad I was who I was and where I was. It was at that exact moment that I decided I would remain in the Air Force. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't leave the Air Force until "The Wall" came down.

Twelve years later, on Nov. 9, 1989, I watched with tears in my eyes, as Germans from both sides of the wall embraced and partied together. I watched the scenes on television all night long. I watched, because I knew my reason for doing what I was doing was no longer a valid reason.

Two years after that, I retired from the U.S. Air Force.

Fixin' Boo-boos

2007-01-25T22:52:00.000-08:00

I'll finish posting the remaining images I have to post to my Flickr photostream soon. I found some errors I made with the information I provided and with the "tagging" process. I made some boo-boos inputting some of them which required multiple words. I also decided I would go through all the images just to make sure the descriptions were as accurate as possible. Live and learn I guess.

While looking through past photos I have here, I am amazed at what I thought was a good camera five or six years ago...hehehe. My Mavica FD91 photos look so, so, so bad compared to the Dimage 7i or the Canon Digital Rebel. But there was still one or two images I got with the Mavica camera which I will probably never get again and will post them shortly. I also have five or six Minolta images I need to tweak a bit before I post them.

Anyway, the bottom line is, I have finished the backlog of posting and will now need to go out and get new images to post if I don't want my Flickr account to go dormant. And, what with the cool, but still nice weather predicted for the next week or so around this part of the world, it should be fun. Probably won't see a lot of the thing I prefer shooting, but the exercise with do my fat arse some good...hehehe.

Graduations and Retirements

2007-01-18T17:00:00.000-08:00

I finished uploading my "Other Insects" photos to Flickr and thought I was done with my Canon digital photos. Well, I wasn't...hehehe. I had forgotten about my "Critters" photos. So, I'll be working on them for the time being.

I also removed my photos from my 360! album and placed them on Flickr. I did this because while visiting a friend the other day, I wanted to show him a photo I had placed in that album. However, at his place, with his computer, I could not access that album. Fearing no one was seeing the album, I removed it from there. I have made reference to photos in it in my blog, so if anyone reading this now has read my blogs in the past and wondered what photo I was referring to, well, now you know. Just go to my photostream from the main page here, and look under "Scenics."

Earlier today I was sort of half watching, half ignoring an episode of E.R. I had watched that show the first year it was on, but really didn't get all that involved with it. Today's episode was about Carter graduating from residency (or whatever it is a doctor does to earn his white coat) and missing the ceremony because he decided to stay with a frightened, young girl suffering from kidney failure (I got all that in the last 20 minutes of the show when I for some reason I stopped half ignoring it). Towards the final moments of the show, he was sitting with another doctor and they were talking about missing their graduations. It made me think...

I don't remember many of my "graduations." I don't remember graduating from elementary school to high school...barely remember graduating high school...don't remember my basic training graduation at all (I think we participated in a military parade) and I don't remember any of the graduations from any of the schools I went to during my military career.

As I have mentioned before (I think...but too lazy to check back), I spent 22 years, two months, and two days in the US Air Force. I am proud of the time I served; proud of a lot of things I did during that time period. In the future I will most likely pass on some of my war stories here. But to get back to the previous thought...my graduations.

I guess a person could make the case that retiring from something is a form of graduating. If that is so, I don't remember my retirement. I am not complaining, just saying...I really didn't have a retirement. My last assignment was at Clark AB, The Philippines. The base was naturally retired from the US Air Force inventory when Mt. Pinatubo erupted and more or less destroyed the base. I was there when that happened.

But before it happened, I was already planning my retirement . I was informed of a new policy the Air Force was implementing...that of an E-6 (Technical Sergeant) who reached 20 years of service, had to retire. Before that change, an E-6 could remain in the service until 24 years. I know I would have made E-7 by then. But the powers to be said I had to retire. So I began planning for it.

Then the mountain blew.

Lucky for me too, since I was probably the only person on the base at that time who had had any experience with volcanic eruptions and military operations. So I was asked to stay past my planned retirement date because my "corporate memory" of my previous experience (Mt. St. Helens) might prove useful...and it did, but more on that at another time. However, when Hq. Air Force approved my remaining on active duty, it was under the condition that I retire when I left Clark AB.

On June 15, 1991, the mountain blew up...literally. I remained on the base until Nov. 22, 1991. My planned retirement date was Aug 1, 1991. But when I left Clark AB, it was a shell of what it had been. When I stepped on the bus to take me to Manila, there were only 150 American servicemen left on what was prior to the eruption, the largest US military installation overseas. From Manila, I flew to Seattle and then went to McChord AFB, Washington for retirement processing.

At Clark, I didn't get a large dinner with all my friends -- they were all long gone to other assignments. I didn't get a military parade honoring my service -- and would not have asked for one. I did get a small goodbye dinner which included several other people leaving Clark at the same time I was departing. When I arrived at McChord, there were three days before the Thanksgiving holiday and everyone wanted to finish my paperwork before then...and no one there knew me from Adam.

When my processing was finished, I was given my marching papers, told my certificate would be mailed to me, handed a decoration for my service and then I was a civilian.

It may not have been a typical retirement, but it definitely was a memorable one.

Photos, Cameras, Blogs and Magnetic Reversals?

2007-01-13T02:09:00.000-08:00

I opened one of those Myspace things late last year. In the two weeks I had it, only 15 people have visited it. In that same time, I have had about 100 pass through my Yahoo 360! page.

That tells me something. I got more action at 360! than I do at Myspace. So, I plan to dump my Myspace space. Why waste time working on something few people will see? I don't know how many folks read these ramblings of mine, but I do know a hell of a lot more people go to my 360! page than the other one. (Update - I have since given up totally on MySpace and even posted about it, and no longer use my Yahoo 360! page.)

I have a bunch more images to post in my photostream. I still have two dozen or so images to "work" for posting, so I think I will finish them, then post all my Canon images. Then it will be time for the Minolta Dimage 7i images and the Sony Mavica FD-91 images...maybe. I know they will look like crap next to 7i images and definitely the Canon Rebel shots, so I will have to either pull the greatest feat of image processing or not post the shots. Maybe I'll stick them in their own gallery. That way they won't be so easy to compare to the other shots.

Boy has it gotten cold here! The mercury has been hovering around 4 degrees since about 9 pm under clear skies. I'm just glad there isn't a meteor shower I want to watch tonight!

A friend of mine asked me about Global Warming the other night. I told her I didn't think of it as Global Warming, as much as I think of it as Climate Change. What's causing climate change? I'm not sure. It does appear humans have something to do with it, what with the destruction of the rain forests in South American and explosion in size of cities. And burning all the fuels you all burn moving around (yes...I said you all...I walk and ride my bicycle 99 percent of the time when I go somewhere) going places doesn't help. But I think there is more to it.

Every once in a while, I'll get this wave of dizziness flow over me. It will last less than a second most of the time, but it is something that doesn't just hit me. In most of the cases when it happens, I feel it on one side first when it begins, then another side when it ends. It's strange, but I think it is something to do with Mother Earth. Are we moving towards a reversal of the magnetic field of Earth? I don't know what it is, but I just get this feeling something is happening, or going to happen.

I am not one of those "The Earth will end tomorrow" guys...not at all. I just seem to have a sensitivity to things happening with this planet. There have been a number of things happen which I, in a way, knew were going to happen. I'll expand on that in future blogs. But for now, to steal a line from "A Knight's Tale," I'll spend time in silent contemplation trying to figure it out.

But the Myspace thing goes! 8v)

Wrist Wrapping Cameras

2007-01-08T22:15:00.000-08:00

I'm moving along with new images for my Flickr photostream. I would rather be out shooting images, but there aren't a lot of little bugs flying around this time of the year. Besides, the weather hasn't been great to for walking around with an expensive digital camera wrapped around my wrist.

Yes...I wrap my camera strap around my wrist and hold the rig in my right hand. I like holding my camera that way because it allows me to just lift and shoot. Plus, it keeps my muscles in my right arm from atrophying. 8v) When I was in the Air Force, I carried my camera around my neck, but I found I didn't like it bouncing off my chest as I walked around. I would move it to over one or the other shoulder, but still didn't like that way of carrying it around.

One day in Rome, I was walking along the Roman Forum when someone attempted to "remove" my camera from my being. There were six of them and they came out of the bushes with the definite intent of getting my Canon EF camera. I wasn't about ready to give it up, so I slipped it off my neck, held my hand inside the loop of the strap while holding the outer side of the strap and let the camera fall through until I had a good grip on the strap.

I then began swinging the camera around like a wild cowboy with a lariat, all the while motioning for the scum wanting my gear to "come and get it." Well, the body of my camera smacked the hand of the first person to try and after that, they lost interest and headed off to find another victim. Relieved, I walked over a bench that Julius Caesar, or even Brutus, might have sat on, sat down, lit a cigarette and took a deep breath.

While sitting there thinking, I realized things could have been worse. The original attack on my camera was with a knife of some type where the person attempted to cut the strap and make off with the camera. I figured that out after seeing my strap cut halfway through. I knew then I either needed a stronger strap, or a new way to carry my camera. I opted for a stronger strap (a leather one with reinforced wires inside) and always kept one hand on the strap or the camera.

A couple of years later, I got an Olympus OM-2 system with a motor drive...and I found a new way of carrying my camera. Loop the strap around my wrist, hold the body of the camera by the grip allowed with the motor drive and bingo...I was happy. I know I am not the first person to do that, but for me, it is the best way to carrying an imaging rig.

This evening, I did get out and did a little shooting. I shot Comet McNaught. Even in the twilight of dusk, the comet stood out...when I finally looked in the right direction. I was looking more to the southwest when in reality, the comet was almost due west of me. Check the photo of it here.

Captions Complete

2007-01-06T23:15:00.000-08:00

I have finally finished captioning all the images I had uploaded to my Flickr photostream. It was fun doing it, although it took me a while to complete it. Some of the critters I was trying to identify, took me several days to nail down what I believed them to be.

For the most part, I think I got most identifications correct. If I didn't, I am most likely in the ballpark. Some of the bugs I could only get as close as family, but if and when I got a more definitive ID, I'll post it.

I have also uploaded a couple of new images. From now on, as I upload, I caption and I will caption with the same format I have used for previous images. If you want to know what that format is, then go look at my photostream. 8v) I still have 50 or so images shot with my Canon to upload and caption...and of course, I'll be out and about in the future capturing more images to upload. However, when I finish with the current crop, I'll work on images captured with my previous gear. I am still debating about my Mavica FD91 images, since those shots were done with a low resolution camera, but I might be able to save something from some of them, and if I do...up it will go.

My Minolta images though, are pretty good and worthy of the world to see. But I don't have all that many shot with the 7i, that fall into the categories I use at Flickr. What that means is I expect I will be finished with all my past images soon after finishing all my Canon images.

I have decided to upgrade my Canon glass though. I'm still debating on which way I want to go, but I do have a direction I am more or less leaning towards. I won't say which lens it is, as I may end up going a different direction. But, rest assured, if you're interested, I will post info on it here when I get the lens and try it out.