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.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
Behind The Iron Curtain, Part I
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Great Day on the High Desert
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.
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.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Not Cheesy Hollywood, But Real Life Disasters
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.
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.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Cowtown Memories
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
High Desert Heat?
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.
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.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Where's your ball?
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...
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...
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