The Snail

So this guy is at home watching TV
he's in a bad mood
there's a knock at the door, so he goes to answer it
it's a snail
the snail says: "Hello, I would like to talk with you about magazine subscriptions."
the guy gets all pissed off
"Get out of here!!"
with that, he kicks the snail off his doorstep and slams the door
two years later
there's a knock at the door
the guy goes over to the door and answers it
it's the snail
who says "what the f&*k was that about!?"

Overthrowing the World Currency Market

Months and months of growing rage at financial institutions hit fever pitch with the bailout of AIG, who were so grateful at a new lease on life that they decided the way to show fiscal responsibility was by throwing themselves a series of $400,000 junkets and re-naming bonuses as "retention salary".

As the US Government bailed out these financial institutions, they did so essentially by printing more money. People don't normally walk around with little slivers of gold in their pockets worth $1, $5, or $20 to pay for things, so that's where a nation bases it's paper notes on the quantity of stockpiles it has in it's reserve. The government can print as much as it wants, but it is important to note that the volume of money isn't as important as the value of money. Print more, what you have it's worth as much.

It's hard for the government to suck up more reserves because of what's available to use. We moved away from using gold to value the dollar a long time ago, and even precious metals like silver are in limited supply.

For example, one problem with the gold standard is that the total amount of gold that has ever been mined is estimated at around 142,000 tons. Assuming a gold price of US$1,000/ounce, the total value of all the gold ever mined would be around $4.5 trillion. This is less than the value of circulating money in the U.S. alone, where more than $7.6 trillion is in circulation or in deposit. Therefore, a return to the gold standard would result in a significant increase in the current value of gold, which may limit its use in current applications.

So what is there to do? How can we keep the dollar strong while also ensuring that AIG-like companies don't continue to laugh their way to the next corporate retreat with no worry of being held accountable? It's enough to focus on the world currency market, which I think can be overthrown.

With what, you ask? Yapese stone money.

Yapese stone money. Carved out of the limestone cliffs and caves of Palau and then transported hundreds of miles away via outrigger canoe & raft by islanders from Yap, the circular stone disks carved with a large hole in the middle. The size of the stones varied widely, with the largest at 10 ft in diameter, 1.5 ft thick and weighing over 8,000 lbs. These stones were valued based on size, craftsmanship, and history. So for example:

- a small stone w/ no one dying in the chiseling and transport back to Yap: least value
- a small stone w/ no one dying, but a famous sailor brought it back to Yap: more value
- a large stone w/ no one dying: even more value
- a large stone w/ someone dying: even more value
- a large stone w/ several people dying: more valuable

- a large stone w/ several people dying & some famous sailor bringing it to Yap: most value

The stones were used in social transactions such as marriage, inheritance, political deals, sign of an alliance, ransom of battle dead or just in exchange for food. Many of them are placed in front of meeting houses or specific pathways. Though the ownership of a particular stone changes, the stone itself is rarely moved. The names of previous owners are passed down to the new one. Although Western-style money has replaced the stones as everyday currency on Yap, the stones are still exchanged in traditional ways between the Yapese.

A Valuation of Existing Yapese Stone Money

In the year 1929, 13,821 stone rounds of varying sizes were counted on the island, however currently only about half of these remain. The reason for this decrease in numbers is their commercial or bank value. The discs areofficially bought by the Bank of Hawaii and have an ordinary exchange rate that is determined by their diameter. For 1" of diameter, you can get $72. So a 10' stone is a fortune for the Yapese islanders.

So: if we can assume that of the 13,821 stones out there, half are still on Yap, that means that 6,910 are floating around and outside of Yap.

Given that one 10' diameter stone is valued at $8,640 base, premium stones could fetch as much as $20,000 given the above value constraints. Making assumptions on overall numbers and values and rounding for ease of calculation, that would mean:

Large Stones: 4,607 in existence
10' = 120". 120" x $72 = $8,640

1,152 high value: $19,640 = $22,625,280
1,152 moderately high value: $16,640 = $19,169,280
1,152 moderate value: $13,640 = $15,713,280
1,152 standard value: $8,640 = $9,953,280
Overall value of large stones: $67,461,120

Following the same calculations for medium and small stones, you end up with:

Medium stone overall value: $59,498,496

Small stone overall value: $51,535,872

Total value of existing Yapese Stone Money: $178,495,488

So what's the overall goal? Well, in overthrowing the world currency market, Yapese Stone Money would mean that greedy groups like AIG wouldn't be able to fleece as easily, and couldn't hand out bonuses as easily. Likewise, drug runners wouldn't be able to do that whole suitcase full o' hundreds as easily. Can you imagine watching a show like Miami Vice where they were conducting a transaction? Sonny Crockett decked out in pastel t-shirt and over sized linen dinner jacket smokin' a cig walks up to a dealer, who goes "you got the cash"? Crockett ominously motions over to a flatbed, straining at it's suspension with 20' of stacked stone discs loaded and strapped down. Jan Hammer's electro-symphonic tunes him away in the background.

World Domination

Is it possible? Yes. So here we go- our Step 1 plan in world domination:

A rough estimate of current world cash reserves would be somewhere in the neighborhood of $10 trillion.

Subtracting out current Yapese stone money value leaves a need for $9,999,821,504,512

So if we only focused on the 10' discs that are rated at a high premium, that would mean that 509,155,881 tablets need to be carved out of the Palau hillsides.

To carve these, I feel that the most efficient and cheapest way of doing this is with child labor. Since we aren't in the US, we can use them, and only pay them $.25/day. What a good deal!

If we employ 100,000 children to carve stone tablets, overall cost is $25,000/day- relatively cheap given our goal of amassing $10 trillion!

509,155,881 tablets carved out at a rate of 1/day by 100,000 children results in 100,000/day, or 36,500,000/year.

36.5 million tablets a year will leave us in complete control of the market in a little under 14 years.

Not bad, huh.

Now if only I can figure out whether there is enough land in Palau to make 509 million tablets and where to keep 'em all. I think my condo isn't large enough......

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To fly? Or to be Invisible? The never ending argument

The other day at Microsoft, one of my close friends overheard a few coders who work on an XBox game argue for 10 minutes about what was better- to fly, or to be invisible?

How do you answer this? These two guys, who looked like they were end products of 10 straight years of Dungeons & Dragons games, SciFi conventions and Lord of the Rings fan clubs were quite into the discussion. They were taking their individual sides personally and passionately.

So just out of curiosity, this very question has been posed to others in a man-on-the-street way. Just throw it out there and see what sticks. "Hey, we have a question for you". Surprisingly? This works.

From responses we have received, here are some insights into what the benefits of each are:

To Be Invisible:

- You can help people who do not know you are there
- You can listen in on conversations
- You can sneak up on OBL and take him out
- You can get into places without paying
- You can go to the Louvre and steal the Mona Lisa

While the last one wasn't followed up with any explanation on how no one would see a painting floating down the hallway unnoticed, there were some interesting aspects of each.

To Be Able To Fly:

- You can save money on airfare
- You can save people on a sinking ship
- You can jump off a building and fly down the center of a street above cars
- You can wave in the windows of a plane at people in-flight
- You can get to the Louvre to steal the Mona Lisa, and then get away while the invisible guy is still wandering around down below.

So clearly, the Mona Lisa came up in a discussion about this and what would be the best way to steal it.


What about this? If you could fly, why not just put on one of those Harry Potter invisible cloaks and then you have the best of both worlds. When you want to be invisible, you throw that thing over your head. Problem solved, right?

I think I had it all summed up for me in one joke I heard a few years back.

Superman is flying along at the speed of light. As he's flying, he thinks to himself, "man, I'm horny!" and starts looking around.

Using his telescopic vision, he spots Wonder Woman, laying naked in the grass next to her invisible plane. "Oooh!" Superman thinks. "Here we go!"

So he swoops down on Wonder Woman and at the speed of light, humphumphump! Then a microsecond later, off he goes! Back up at 20,000' and feeling good about himself.

Back down on the grass, Wonder Woman says "hey, what was that?"

The Invisible Man says "I have no idea, but my ass really hurts."

And to me, that joke in a nutshell spells out the two, and why it is best to be able to fly.

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Cherry Blossoms

Just finished the isloated cherry blossom painting that I wrote about earlier- titled uniquely "Cherry Blossoms". Maybe I can spend more than two seconds thinking up a better title for this. But at least for now, I'm actually pretty excited to see how it turned out. In many ways, I believe that it keeps from being too busy yet still captures the essence of cherry blossoms that explode around the Washington DC Tidal Basin every March/April.

I did include some impressionist overtones to the work- specifically in the petals and also the branches where I blotted in some petals and tried to color the branches with shadowing. Might have worked, might not have. But I'm still pretty happy and it's hanging in the loft as I write this.


To create this painting, I used two references- one was an inspiration that I took from "The Apprentice", believe it or not. There's a ancient Japanese-style art lithograph hanging outside Trump's board room that I caught a glimpse of and which gave me the background shading idea and basic imagery concept. Then I used a few pictures I took of Tidal Basin cherry blossoms to identify which branches I wanted to paint and which I felt allowed for isolation of the blossom groupings. To specifically identify a type of blossom to give me flower foundation (is that an actual term?), I used the image at right. I didn't know it at the time I started, but there are apparently several different varieties of cherry blossom, stemming from several different variety of cherry tree. Go figure. In retrospect the fact that there are multiple cherry trees in the whole cherry tree family makes complete sense. But I think I spent even less time thinking about that then I did in naming my painting. So now I know. Huh. The things you learn.

I have painted flowers in the past, some abstract some natural. The below painting is of a desert cactus flower on a smaller 5"x5" canvas. It's one of the first paintings I completed, sometime during or around '94 when I was still stuck in 29 Palms. In the spring, the Mojave desert comes alive with April rains, longer days and mild temperatures. On one occasion I quite literally stumbled across this barrel cactus with flowers bursting out the top. It's one of my first paintings so I hadn't quite yet learned how to create depth or use shadows but I have a thing about going back to correct paintings- I don't like to do that because then they'll never be done. So instead, I'll just look at it, enjoy it and recognize that it was a good first shot at painting. Please note dad's thumb in the bottom right for artistic panache. Fantastico!


Then there's my strange habit of hitting abstract paintings from time to time. I'm not really quite sure why, but I like to try different styles from time to time. The below painting- "Crazy Pitcher" was finished last year and is about as out there as I get in paintings. It follows the red, white and blue theme that I like to use from time to time and it gets mixed reviews on likability.

Now, on to two smaller paintings and a larger climber painting that I want to knock out in the next couple days. Maybe I'll complete them, maybe I wont. But with taxes and tons of gym time to look forward to, I'm entering crunch time.

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Super Tuesday

Time and again I have said that Republicans are the only party who can screw up a one-car funeral procession.. and I am a Republican. Reason being that Republicans are fully capable of taking a good thing and hosing it all up before the final message has settled- infighting or imploding via own member dumb-assedness. Then there are the Democrats- the only party incapable of developing a plan for how they want to run a one-car funeral procession. Instead, it never happens and everyone looks for someone to blame. Thus, the American political machine grinds on in confusing and mind boggling fashion.

Here's a quick, high-level 411 on how delegates and nominations work within the two parties:

Republicans: Primary/caucuses involve registered party members going to voting centers on the identifed day and casting their lot for the party candidate of their choice. Almost all states involve a winner-take-all approach where the majority of votes capture all state delegates, aligning toward a specific candidate. Fairly straightforward in process, but the streets leading to the fall National Convention are paved with the carcasses of candidates who weren't quite attractive enough to one special interest group or another. The threshhold of delegates needed to capture party nomination is 1,191.

Democrats: The same basic primary/caucus set-up as Republicans, involving registered party members voting for their candidate of choice. But then they go and share their delegates- splitting them up proportionately amongst candidates based on vote results. Unlike a scorched earth, winner-take-all concept where a clear front runner quickly emerges based on majority rules, no winner quickly emerges but everyone does manage to feel happy and like a winner regardless. Perhaps I forgot to mention that thrown squarely into this mix are something called "Super Delegates". 842 delegates (almost 40%) of the 2,025 needed to declare victory. Not chosen via voting, these delegates are instead individuals picked by Democratic fat-cats who can cast their votes however they like. For example, Bill Clinton gets one. Hmm.. I wonder who his delegate vote will go to? No matter what voters choose in their state primaries, Super-Delegates will have a significant impact on the Democratic nomination process above and beyond mere mortals casting their votes in a booth.

Checks and Balances

Beyond the shadow of a doubt, I am amazed at the foresight of our Founding Fathers in the way they established our Government. How they developed a system of checks and balances that 230 years later are still as effective as the day they were founded is astounding to me. Maybe they knew we would still be human in 2008, and that absolute power absolutely corrupts. That doesn't take rocket science... or whatever they had back then. The ultimate design strength of our system is the ability to ensure that no one branch of Government -Executive, Legislative or Judical- can become more powerful than another. Built into this is the inherent design that keeps one political party from becoming too powerful as well. Equilibrium at it's finest. Good one, George. You da man.

In 1994, Republicans developed and marketed a plan to the people called the "Contract With America". It worked. How a guy named after an amphibian and having an affair with a Congressional staffer drove that train is beyond me. But it essentially paved a way forward, established a road map for conservative values, and was designed to offset a Democratically controlled Congress and Presidency. Checks and balances in action. Democrats had President Clinton, Republicans controlled the House and Senate. Equilibrium.

In 2000, all that changed and from that point through 2006, the Democrats had anger and no plan in one election after another. The collective groaning crept in and reached fever pitch in 2005. So much for the group hug. But then in 2006, corruption, party-based decisions without public welfare in mind crept into the mindset, and it became clear that power had again become corrosive- this time under a Republican lost path. The ghosts of George, Tom, and Ben popped back up, checks and balances came back into play, and despite having no clear message or any path forward, voter disaffection drove Democrats back into the Congressional driver's seat with great fanfare. Equilibrium again.

Simply amazing. In 1994, and 2006, voters made sweeping changes based on dissatisfaction, and here we are. Balance restored, more moderation in Government and exactly the way that the majority of the country likes it- conscious of this or not (I think the safe money is on not). Too much of anything- Ice cream, steak, Ex-Lax, partisan politics.. and you get a stomach ache.

So Here We Are

Obama is pulling in millions more than Hillary in a manner unique to current fundraising models. Democrats are in a virtual dead heat between the popular vote and delegates needed to secure the nomination. Surprisingly, there is no clear leader. Bad blood between Hillary and Obama is leaving some to wonder whether party unification in the Democratic arena will erode all that they have worked so hard to gain. Where's that group hug again?

Then there's McCain. A Naval Academy grad, former Hanoi Hilton war hero, deficit hawk and national defense stalwart who can reach across party lines to work with the likes of Ted Kennedy and Arlen Specter. At a time where the vast majority of people in the nation keep saying over and over that they want change- and a Republican candidate who can do that- what do a small number of conservative Republicans do? Complain -loudly- about how they don't "like" McCain, stating that "they won't vote for him", saying they will vote for Clinton before they vote for McCain. Are you kidding me?? Are you related to Bill Belichik or something?

To me, all this means that a November win by whomever the Democratic nominee happens to be is hardly a slam dunk. Think George Bush in 1992 with his predicted landslide over Bill Clinton all but ordained the summer before elections. It also means that the Republican nominee- at this point looking like McCain- is also hardly a solid bet. It does tell me one thing though- whoever the two candidates are, they had better look to Congressional approval ratings, the ability for maverick candidates to gin up incredible support and the whole concept of checks and balances to figure out how to keep this great country on track.

So. Based on Super Tuesday, it's shaping up to be an interesting summer.

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Green Flash

Last Thursday, I was parked in a beach front chair at the Moana Surfrider drinking a mai tai and waiting for the sunset. Their hotel patio ranks up there as one of my most favorite places to relax and drink in the moment and every time I'm in Honolulu I'll spend a good amount of my off time there. Hawaiian music plays lazily in the background, sunlight filters gently through massive overhanging Banyan Tree branches, turquoise waves wash gently ashore 20 feet away and the period specific architecture is beyond compare. Built in 1901, the Surfrider was the first hotel on Waikiki, and it's pillared entryways coupled with plantation shuttered windows have provided a serene environment for over a century since Robert Louis Stevenson wrote poetry in it's courtyard.

My redeye flight back to Seattle wasn't departing until 10pm, so I decided to spend my last few hours by the beach killing time until I could see one last sunset. "Would you like another mai tai sir?" Hell yes I would like another mai tai. Before long though, my back teeth started swimming and it proved to be at just the most impossible of times to pop a seal. The sun was maybe 10 degrees off the horizon, the courtyard was starting to load up, and there I am- having to abandon my perfect table that I had been sitting at for 2 hrs because I had to hit the head. Great. I always like how you go through this weird realization/denial/ignore/accept phase when you have to go at just the wrong time and here was no exception. It's almost like a unique multi-step process:

1- No, I don't have to go.. it's not a good time.
2- Maybe if I can somehow ignore it, it'll go away. I am going to do mind over matter and it'll be fine.
3- Ok, I think I really have to go but if I press in my stomach muscles, maybe I can delay it. Oh, that feels better. Wait, it's back now. Dammit.
4- My head is sweating and I'm spitting to dehydrate myself. Wait... how much do I have to spit to dehydrate myself again? And why is that woman staring at me with that weird look on her face?
5- I can't wait anymore. I wonder if anyone would find mountaineering pee bottle use to be offensive here? Ugh. Where's the nearest bathroom.

20 minutes to go before sunset on an afternoon where there wasn't a cloud between Honolulu and Tokyo.. and I'm about to jettison my pole position table. I think I hadn't even stood up completely before some beer bellied dude in Bermuda shorts had snagged my chair with a Cheshire Cat grin on his sweaty face. Yeah, whatever buddy. Have fun when you get back to Punxsutawney in a few days.

I made a mad dash to the head, did God's Work and then walked back out on the beach to find a patch of sand to call my own. As I sat down, all around me touristas were talking about the "green flash"- a phenomenon seen predominantly in the tropics where the last sliver of visible sun before cresting the horizon returns a microsecond fast flash of neon green. I have heard of this for years but never witnessed it firsthand. "It's a perfect day for this," one said. "There are no clouds to disrupt the green flash," said another. Literally everyone was talking about it, and it proved to be an infectious band wagon. Wow, the green flash. I'm finally going to see it. Who knows if I was just listening in on a bunch of people like me who were falling victim to some viral green flash campaign sponsored by Ron Paul, or there just so happened to be a 40-pound head astronomer convention at the Moana Surfrider that day. Either way, I was hooked.

I don't really know what it is about South Pacific sunsets, something about the latitude, curvature of the earth, etc. Maybe I should have asked one of those astronomers around me while I had the chance. They are completely out of control. Just about every hue of yellow, red and blue you can imagine streams into view and consciousness. In short order, we quickly cycled through all of these colors, migrating from a light yellow down to purply orange with the sun dropping lower and lower onto the horizon. In good time, there was only a smallest possible sliver of sun left. Everyone just stared with unblinking eyes. And then it happened. Just at the exact second that it dropped below the horizon, a large, large woman slowly walked RIGHT in front of me. I swear to you, the timing couldn't have been more perfect if it had been rehearsed over and over. I mean, you almost can't even pay for that sort of coordination. Then right at that exact moment, 30 people behind and to the sides of me started clapping, whistling and excitedly buzzing about- the green flash. "Did you see that?! Oh my gosh! Did you see that!?"

Great.


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Ferry in the Mist

Yesterday I completed my latest oil painting, which I titled "Ferry in the Mist". I have been interested in painting a ferry for quite some time, and this seemed like a dramatic enough setting where I could knock it out and be happy with both the backdrop and placement of the subject. Emerging from a Puget Sound fog bank, this Washington State Ferry was framed perfectly as it churned along with Mount Rainier providing a perfect backdrop. I took some artistic license in the positioning of Rainier- Little Tahoma which juts conspicuously out from the left side of Rainier in the painting is actually on the eastern fringe of the giant volcano- and as a result is not visible from Puget Sound. However, given my interest in the aesthetic terrain feature of that peak residing next to the mountain- and a belief that seeing Little Tahoma will make Rainier instantly identifiable from the myriad of other snow-capped peaks in the Pacific Northwest, I didn't see the harm in making that slight modification to the finished product. The painting is now framed and is sitting on my wall in the main room of the loft.

Already moving on to the next oil, I spent some time going back and forth on what the subject should be. Every once in a while I jump onto a theme for paintings. Perhaps based on my upcoming Tokyo trip for the Mt Fuji climb, I'm back onto cherry blossoms. Every year, the Tidal Basin in Washington DC becomes an explosion of cherry blossoms- also known as sakura in Japanese. The last sakura painting I did of the Tidal Basin was looking the opposite direction of the Jefferson Memorial- instead focusing in the direction of the Lincoln Memorial. An evening scene, the flash on my camera lit up the cherry blossoms and provided an incredible contrast to the muted reflections bouncing off of the mirror calm Tidal Basin. I truly enjoy how this particular painting turned out but am interested in working more with the cherry blossom setting and seeing where I can go with it.

DC. Ahh, DC. What a weird town. I either love it, or hate it. When I'm driving down the Beltway in completely stopped traffic that rivals Los Angeles I count the seconds till I'm on a plane. But when I'm down around the monuments and the National Mall, I love it. Each monument is unique in it's own right- and among all of the monuments, the Jefferson Memorial is hands down my favorite. Not simply because of the commemoration to this great man and Founding Father, but also to the architecture and even the history behind this building. Quick fun-fact: During WW II, the Jefferson Memorial was built on land fill and the massive Jefferson statue adorning the inside constructed of plaster, with bronze paint to cover it. Bronze was simply too expensive and necessary for the war effort to use on a statue. Only after the war effort did the Government quietly replace the plaster statue with a metal one. The picture at right, taken on a calm spring morning a few years ago is one of my next paintings. I'm going to overemphasize the blossoms and make some of the shadows on the memorial itself a little more sharp but love the colors and texture of the water.. so those will remain as-is. Hopefully I can crank that one out before I launch in March.

I'm also going to experiment a little with cherry blossoms as the subject, but try to merge a few different styles. I really like the traditional Japanese style rice paper paintings where sakura is prominently displayed and there is a singular focus on the branch and flower. But I also like to mix it up a little bit here and there after focusing on a realistic painting like "Ferry in the Mist". I wouldn't really call some of my paintings abstract, but some do come close. One of those paintings, "Palm Trees"- is more or less abstract and impressionist with a generous dose of tans and light browns. So when I was looking at the styles of both paintings- classical Japanese rice paper and my whacky Palm Tree style I think I am going to focus the next painting on nothing more than the cherry blossoms and branches. Yes, others have done this- most notably Van Gogh, with great success. But while I love his painting, I also find it a bit busy. So I'm going to do a little thinking on the next one and then wing it. We'll see how it goes.

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Bigfoot Calculator

A few years ago one sleepy Saturday afternoon I found myself sitting around my apartment. I didn't have much to do, and Silverdale, WA isn't exactly known as a high energy, singles-driven hot spot. Then all of a sudden, some show on TV came on dealing with Sasquatch and there I found myself- in the heart of Bigfoot territory watching a documentary about this hairy, elusive and mythical being.

I month later, I spoke with a woman who owned Rainier Overland Lodge as a few of us were passing through on a Rainier summit climb. Over Chicken Fried Steak, she told three of us that as a little girl she and her brother had gone out one night with a pair of homemade plywood feet, tromped around her neighbors yard and then headed to bed. Much to their shock and pleasure, the next day their footprints made it onto the front page of the local paper.

Armed with this knowledge and a whole lot of time on my hands, I decided to insert tangible, cold hard numbers into the dialogue- at the very least to satiate my own curiosity. Cryptozoologists insist that Bigfoot is real. Can their belief be supported? Despite the fact that no body, skeleton, hair patch or realistic image has come forth. Despite urban sprawl, satellite technology and an amazing amount of logging in the Pacific Northwest. Despite every eyewitness encounter always followed up by some goofball with no teeth insisting that "after hearing a bloodthirsty scream" and then seeing an 800 lb "thing" staring directly at them, they always, always, always run right toward the sighting.. instead of Mach 4 in the opposite direction.

So, I came up with the Bigfoot Calculator. Can Cryptozoologist claims be empirically supported? There are assumptions in the below and I did my best to identify those as made. Enjoy.

The Bigfoot Calculator

Average Bigfoot height of 7'10" and weight (lbs) of 650, Bipedal Hominid. This means that caloric calculations most closely resemble humans in burn curves which based on height/weight increase at an ever increasing rate. Average Bigfoot Physical Characteristics: http://www.bfro.net/gdb/show_FAQ.asp?id=585

When you look at the caloric burn for an individual with the above characteristics, you get the following:
Average Calorie burn/day for biped at 650 lbs, resting (basal): 7,076
Average Calorie burn/day for ~10 hrs light to moderate activity: 1,769
Calorie burn derived from: http://www.stevenscreek.com/goodies/calories.shtml

All articles I have read speak of Bigfoot walking for "scores" of miles/ day. Average Calorie burn/ day for 40 miles (score=20, so minimum score(s)= 40) of walking for a 650 lb biped: 18,575
- Assumption that walking speed is 4.5mph for 10 hrs to cover 40 miles: http://www.caloriesperhour.com/index_burn.php

Bigfoot is identified as omniverous. However, in order to consume 18,575 calories a day, more than huckleberries and pine cones will need to be consumed for high calorie, dense energy meals. Several sources identify the Red Squirrel as Bigfoot's preferred food source.

An average Red Squirrel is low in fat, similar to rabbits. This means that the caloric content is lower in fat burning energy and only has a 541 calorie value.
http://www.calorie-count.com/calories/item/17184.html

One Bigfoot burning 18,575 calories/day would need to consume 34.334 squirrels to sustain daily caloric burn. Assumption is made that Red Squirrels are literally jumping into Bigfoot's hands to be consumed and that no extra calories are being burned chasing those zippy little critters around the forest floor.

Calculating out and rounding down to 34 avg/day, one Bigfoot would then need to consume 12,410 Red Squirrels/year.

Minimum Viable Population (MVP) in order to sustain an independent species and maintain genetic diversity that does not result in an unacceptable rate of inbreeding is commonly identified as 50. Yes, smaller MVPs are proven to exist. But genetic bottlenecks can nail a species just as easily as external, uncontrolled events and can quickly result in species extinction. For example: if all 10 Bigfeet were hanging out on Mt St Helens northern slopes for a town hall meeting to discuss what to do about all the hoaxers with plywood feet on May 18th, 1980 they'd be screwed. So we'll run with 50 for the Bigfoot Calculator.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Minimum_viable_population

12,410 Red Squirrels/year * 50 Bigfoot (Bigfeet?): 620,500/ year across Bigfoot population

620,500 squirrels year. Yah. Big shocker no Bigfoot has been discovered.

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The $6000 Squirrel House

In 1994 while living in 29 Palms, I picked up a Jeep CJ-7. My first big purchase. I had my sights set on this vehicle for several reasons with the main one being that I wanted a bad ass 4x4 to drive around in to go places that regular cars can't. And what 20-something single male wouldn't? They embody testosterone and all things rugged about what a car can be. No self-respecting guy driving a VW Bug can lay claim to be a guy's guy. I mean, seriously.

Another more subtle reason for my decision was that for a time in '94 my other car was a legitimate hangar queen- in and out of the mechanic for what I suspected (and proved later) to be simple fix items that were killing a minuscule military salary that was barely enough to pay for groceries and gas. So, a Jeep CJ-7 in all it's basic mechanical glory was a perfect starter car to learn the fundamentals of vehicle maintenance. Over the next few years in the dry air of 29 Palms, I worked on the Jeep, restored it and added on ruggedized features: 33" tires, a 3 1/2" lift, roof & outback racks, new stereo system, paint job, etc. The outdoor playground environment meant tons of off-roading experiences, and thanks to being parked in the middle of nowhere with no hopes of moving until my Marine Corps contract was up.. lots of free time. Another case of making lemonade when life throws you lemons.

Jeep restoration was a perfect hobby for all the right reasons. Yes, I found myself on the highway with cars whizzing by as I crawled under the thing to reattach a driveshaft or replace a water pump. Most notably one winter afternoon racing to Las Vegas for a flight to Montana to visit my Godfather, anything that could go wrong- did. While already handicapped with a broken hand thanks to a snowboarding wreck, I replaced a tire and locked myself out at the airport before I could get to my skis. Then after multiple cancelations thanks to a Denver blizzard, I managed to seize both door mechanisms forcing a crawl into and out of the passenger side window. That day for a variety of reasons, I was going out of my mind. But it forced me to think about automoblie maintenance in a different light, including the need for creative solutions- especially when alone and stranded on the side of the road. How do I fix this? How can I get myself and my Jeep home without calling a mechanic and dumping even more money?

A few years later when I drove the Jeep cross-country with a buddy, I had little foresight about what would amount to an epic adventure. I have driven across the States about 10 times now and each one of those drives was unique. The difference is that in a Jeep, it is possible to truly see the country in a different way. At 80mph, blurred details are missed going point to point with only radio station changes and intermittent city transits giving a sense of progress. In a Jeep, you truly see things. Street signs. People working fields. True America slowly rolling down the road, stopping every ~150 miles for a new tank of gas. In a Jeep, you aren't forced into encapsulated air-conditioned comfort that isolates as much as it does ramp up the speed. It is a windows down, in-your-face experience, feeling sticky humidity while overtaking a thunder storm and the sharp grit of furnace hot blowing desert sand. Despite a few nail biting moments thanks to madman 18-wheelers, we had a much more common interface with people driving alongside to wave and smile, talking with roadside restaranteurs and even having complete strangers offer to put us up for a night along the way. It truly was an experience similar to bygone days of Route 66 lore.

But once the Jeep arrived on east coast, it's driving time dwindled. East coast weather isn't the same as 29 Palms, where I could work on the Jeep so long as I had shade from the 120-degree sun. Virginia maintenance usually equalled 35 degree days with me under the Jeep in a parking lot between rain storms. Not so fun. And then there are the Northern Virginia drivers. Nothing better than rolling along at a healthy clip down a narrow, winding Virginia road and then have one of these little zippy cars so popular out here jam past you, cut in front and then throw on the brakes. Talk about nail biting. Some of those jokers are lucky that my winch didn't end up in their back seat.

Over the years, maintenance issues built up while inspections lapsed. The Jeep sat in my parents driveway through one deployment to Iraq, and then a second one. Grime, rust, and gunk accumulated as batteries died, oil settled and the radiator calcified. Paper wasps decided that the front grill and exhaust pipe were fantastic places to call home. Spiders built webs in any possible cranny, laying egg cases inside the brake drums. All that time and effort spent to build a perfect off-road vehicle. My pride and accomplishment. All disappearing thanks to time and the elements.

From 1999, this vehicle had sat in their driveway. How many parents would do that for their kid? Very few. But they did, and last year my parents were resurfacing the driveway where they had unselfishly stored the Jeep for so many years. Maybe revealing a little of his frustration, Dad thought aloud about pushing it down the hill and into the woods. After reminding him of how fun it would be to pull it back up again, he decided a better place for it would be the front yard. The front yard. For anyone trying to picture this, imagine all those West Virginia images of taller grass, a vehicle hulk, maybe a sink, a few plastic kids toys and a painted toilet with flowers growing out of it. Then, place that house in Northern Virginia surrounded by quizzical neighbors who definitely aren't expecting to see a vehicle parked in a neighbors front yard.

Around Thanksgiving, Barbara noticed that since the Jeep was now parked so close to Dad's bird feeders, the local squirrel population had found a new use for the Jeep- a house. And why not. It was about five feet from all the prime thistle feeders- undoubtedly squirrel filet mignon. So the squirrels could now empty Dad's feeders and then dine to their hearts content in the relative safety of the Jeep's hood. Some people have Garden Gnomes. Some people have Pink Flamingos. Others have fountains or a nice array of well manicured bushes. Our house had a CJ-7 Squirrel House. In and out they ran, up into the wheel wells, around the roof rack and under the hood. It was time. I couldn't take any more. Despite the myriad of maintenance issues, it couldn't get to this point. Squirrels were the last straw.

So, over the last few days I have been working like a fiend on the Jeep. I have: replaced the fuel pump, replaced a brake cylinder in the rear drum and rebuilt the components, replaced headlights and windshield wipers, upgraded some underbody weatherproofing, replaced the oil, flushed the radiator, rewired the radio, resealed some leaks and scrubbed off seven years of mung from the hood, windsheld and quarterpanels. At times in the dark and in 35 degree temps, I pressed on. Fun.

Ok, maybe not so fun. But, it's my Jeep and in my own way I have a special piece of love in that vehicle. I have made it what it is today, and it's finally back on it's feet, ready to be inspected and back on the roads. It's like a whole new vehicle- the paints ready for a new coat on the hood, but on the whole it is back to being a beautiful classic. It literally is an eye-turner. On a quick test drives today, a bunch of neighborhood kids stopped, waved, and started running along as I drove past. How many VW Bugs do you think get that sort of attention? It really, truly is a classic model vehicle. And it's finally back.

Damn squirrels. Take that. Go find a new home.

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Party Like a Rock Star Party Like a Rock Star

The other day I was reminded of a rescue that my teammates and I went on a few months ago. It was along the Pacific Crest Trail, and a woman and her dog had gone missing. There were many aspects of this that seemed off to us- she had been traveling the PCT for months at that point, so it's not like she didn't know what she was doing. She had her dog and a "friend"- some guy she had blogged about who had joined her for the last 100 miles along for the ride. She had logistics support, and had already returned to a hotel to wait out a snowstorm at one point. So our guess was that she was out along the trail somewhere, Barry White crooning away in her tent with her and her "friend" blissfully unaware of the rescue effort under way to save her. Scott and I headed out to Snoqualmie Pass, and the entire way were confused about exactly what we were doing out there, but still happy to do our part.

Upon arrival at search base, we were asked if we could travel down the PCT. Yeah. From Snoqualmie Pass to Stevens Pass, the PCT is close to 70 miles long and we had no interest in an endurance hump, or overnighting in the field that evening. The weather was starting to sock in, and as it turned out I HAD to be back in Seattle the next morning to hop on the phone and deliver a brief I was working on for our US Coast Guard project. While not in the cards, the search administrators did a good number on peer pressure to see if we could in-fact stick around and were fairly disappointed when we had to politely decline.

Still, we were assigned to the PLS (Point of Last Sighting)- a campground roughly 10 miles in from where we could pick up a side trail in order to save a long and tedious hike along the PCT. Driving I-90 out and around, we passed through the town of Ronald- where the TV show Northern Exposure was filmed. Funny how a show based in Alaska was filmed in a little town outside Seattle, but there it was and you can still see the houses that the moose walks right by in the trailer.

Stressed out by the deliverable and several telcons that I had first thing in the morning, we stepped off onto our side trail just as it got dark. Off Scott and I go, hunting for them until the wee hours of the morning. Breaking trail and pressing through thick brush, we searched along the snowline and admired the stars which were clear enough that we could make out the Milky Way and even an occasional meteorite. When we came up empty handed, the team decided it was time to return to base and finally popped out by our car and drove home.

Returning to my loft at 03:30, I finalized a powerpoint, made the telcons from 07-10:00 and then proceeded to work the rest of the day as if nothing had ever happened.. surely not as if the ~20 miles of speed hiking and lost hiker hunting had occurred. No weird post-allnighter buzz, lagging exhaustion, shakes, etc etc. How, you ask? Four Rock Star Energy Drinks. Seriously. Four. That stuff is like liquid speed. How it works is beyond me, but I'm telling you that maybe either a SMR teammate or a guy with newborns invented it. I swear to you, they scare me. I didn't even feel like I had been up for close to 40 hrs including a rescue through the backwoods of Washington, worked on some dry-ass powerpoint and then talked for an eternity on a telcon by the time I crashed that next night. The only side effect I noticed? I thought it was great to TM everyone I knew with "party like a rock star, party like a rock star" .

Scary..

So there. I have now done my part for mankind and passed this hidden gem of information on to the world. A day later, the woman was discovered quite literally in her tent with Barry White going. Not surprisingly, she was confused about why exactly this rescue had been called out on her despite being a day overdue. Seems that after a few months alone along the PCT, it was pretty exciting to spend time with a guy that she was digging on and who had come to see her. Crisis averted, she was safe and doing well. And in the process I learned a valuable lesson- when you need some fast energy in a way that will keep you up despite the level of energy exerted, Rock Stars the way to go. It may require a biohazard label and I'll only drink it on heavy exertion occasions because of that, but it has worked like a charm for our team on more than one occasion now. Driving back from a Mt Olympus 30 hour nonstop summit climb, several of us drank Rock Stars and were able to get safely home.... man that stuff is crazy.

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The Lucky Christmas Dodge

On December 23rd, I went to LAX with my sister for our flights back to DC in time for Christmas. We had to beat feet because part of our Christmas tradition is to celebrate something called "Little Christmas". Our family opens presents on Christmas Eve (24th), but Little Christmas is more or less an authorized event to open one present each, a day early. Barbara's nonstop flight into Washington Dulles from LAX on the newly founded Virgin America would have her into DC sometime mid-afternoon. But given that this was a last minute trip to see Sgt Hawes' Basic Reconnaissance Course graduation, it would have cost me close to $700 to pick up a round trip ticket. Not being made of money, I used frequent flier miles to hook up a United Airlines round trip costing a whopping $7.50. Tough call on that one.. frequent flier miles and $7.50, or $700.. hmm. The catch was that on the return, my flight would take me through Chicago instead of nonstop into DC. At the time of purchase, I couldn't have cared less. At the time of flight, I couldn't have cared more.

When I arrived into LAX on Thursday night, the place was an absolute zoo. That was the first sign that this seasons rush compounded with an already crappy travel year would be a challenge. So when Barbara and I arrived at LAX somewhere in the neighborhood of 08:45, we found that Virgin America and United were conveniently located right next to each other but the airport was already a mad house. Barbara's flight was to depart at 10:40, and mine wasn't heading out until 2pm but given my ambivalence in being laid over in LAX thanks to some of the best people watching in the nation, I was completely fine with that and agreed to get there early with her.

Immediately after getting to the United Checkin line, my stress level started to spike. One woman told me that I couldn't check in until after 10:00, since my flight departure time was over four hours distant. Great. I didn't have any interest in wheeling around two suitcases for another hour so instead I opted onto the standby list to get the bags checked in. This proved to be both a burden and a Godsend down the road. We made our way through security, had some breakfast, and then Barbara went to her gate while I milled around between terminals and gift stores for some last minute Christmas shopping.

At 2, my flight was delayed until 2:30. Looking at all other Chicago-bound flights, they were delayed across the board which definitely raised an eyebrow or two. So at 2:30, we finally received our boarding announcement and jumped onto the plane. To sit. And sit. At 3:00, we were told that United needed our gate, so we would taxi out onto a remote part of the flightline until we received our takeoff approval. Again at 3:30, the pilot came on and informed everyone that the weather in Chicago was so bad that only one runway was operating. As such, we were held in LAX until ORD was ok with us flying in that direction and we were again being pushed back to 4:15. So long, connecting flight. But then at 3:40, a very anxious pilot comes on the intercom and gave us 2 minutes- we received our takeoff green light and if we missed this extremely narrow window, we wouldn't have another one for a whole hour. Flight attendants scrambled, people shut down laptops and tried to get off one last text message before we were airborne.

The flight was extremely quiet, and other than some light chop didn't get sketchy until we were almost into Chicago. Then the clouds rolled up to greet us, the bumps started, and the snow flying by windows was super-thick. The pilot managed a smooth landing and then there we were, at O'Hare. I had received a few updates before we left LAX letting me know that my ORD-DCA flight had been delayed also, so by my watch I had 20 minutes to get from Terminal C to Terminal B and on to that plane before it's now 9:50 departure to Reagan National. I quite literally ran to the first terminal monitor I could find- to read "delayed" or "canceled" on almost every departing flight listed. There were three remaining flights to the DC area that evening and even with the lateness of the hour you could tell that everyone was putting on a last-ditch effort to get people home for the holidays. My flight- the last of the 3, was now listed as departing at 10:55. Guess I can take my time getting to Terminal B, after all. As I made my way, I passed the longest Customer Service line I have ever seen. Passengers were asleep on gate couches. The Red Carpet Room lounge was overflowing. Talk about a worst-case scenario. On December 23rd at the height of the Holiday travel crush, one of United's key mid-country hubs is forced to a slowdown because of weather.

Over the next two hours, I had to change gates 3 times. One of the DC flights was able to get out and one was canceled. The one scheduled to depart O'Hare 2 hours before mine now showed a departure time 5 minutes ahead of ours, now 11:15pm. Then, the gate agent came on and gave us some news.. our crew was stranded in Idaho somewhere. Immediately after that announcement, the Departures monitor showed no scheduled depart time- just "postponed pending airport operations". More and more, it looked like I was going to be sleeping in O'Hare on Little Christmas, picking some random couch seat to call my very own. United EasyUpdate called for the 10th time with an automated update: "Good news! You have been rebooked on Flight XXX departing Chicago O'Hare on 24 December at 9am" I'm screwed.

But then in a rare feat of jointness, the Gate Agent who hadn't left us the entire time came onto the intercom and told passengers that in-fact, United was calling another crew in. The Gate Agent informed us that the DCA flight before ours hadn't departed yet, and depending on how things went in the next half hour we would either have that planeload of passengers merge with ours, or we would all truck down to Gate B-10 and merge with theirs. Then out of the blue, an airplane arrived at our gate and passengers hurried off. A pilot showed up.. and then two. The cleaning crews ran onto the plane and then they disappeared. Several extremely tired looking flight attendants jumped on board. We were told that all we needed was one last flight attendant, and then we were golden. She appeared at 30 minutes past midnight along with a mob of people who had just gotten word down at B-10 that their new plane that would take them to Reagan National was waiting for them at B-16 and had beaten feet to get on line for boarding passes.

We jumped on board and took off at 01:30am, arriving into Reagan National at 3 am. The crew were pleasant and I thanked them profusely for making the effort that they did. With all the canceled flights, and crappy weather they put forth a massive effort given the time of year and desperation of passengers who wanted nothing more than to be with family and friends in time for the holidays. Working in the air industry in this country is a thankless job right now and it's important to recognize those who go the extra mile as much as point out those who don't. But it's amplified time and again when you throw in the tight quarters and high dollar figures associated with air travel. Because of that, I can't express enough how thankful I was to this crew for pressing on at that time of night and under those conditions. Thanks to my name on the standby list in LAX 15 hours earlier, both bags were waiting in the baggage area with no wait- just grab them and go meet Dad and Barbara. "Well, hello! Haven't seen you in a while"

I was extremely lucky and I'm sure the envy of several thousand people who were still stranded in Chicago- and I know it. To drive home the point to me even more, I turned on my phone when I landed and found one voicemail waiting for me- from United EasyUpdate: "Your original flight, scheduled to depart Chicago O'Hare at 9am has been canceled. You have been rebooked on Flight XXX departing Chicago O'Hare on 24 December at 5pm". Lucky dodge. I was in DC in the wee hours of the morning on December 24th but with all the last minute Christmas shopping, present wrapping and other miscellaneous chores that needed to be done before our celebration started, there's no way I would have been able to make Christmas without that crew pressing on like they did.

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Ugg Lemming Parade

Today my sister and I did some quick last minute shopping before Christmas and ended up walking around Santa Monica's 3rd Street Promenade, a unique blend of shops, restaurants, and boutiques settled along a four block stretch of the city and within sight of the Pacific Ocean. In addition to the stores on 3rd Street, walking down the street provides one with a unique opportunity of seeing a healthy collection of the most bizarre and self-absorbed people in the United States. Among my perennial favorites are the Psychic Cat, who for a simple donation can read your mind and your future. Thanks to the help of a translator who just happens to speak cat, Psychic Cat then communicates its amazing prediction to a breathless audience. Then there are the living statues- you know the ones, people who paint themselves up silver or white, throw on sunglasses, and then move to a new pose when someone throws some coins into their basket. How would you like to go on a date with one of those people? Their skin a silver pallor from not quite cleaning up all the way and wondering in the back of your mind if all that makeup is going to lead to cancer one day. And among the other goofy people, you have throngs of those that can't be seen outside of the home unless they have on their designer shirts, $500 shades, and Ugg boots. In many ways, I'd rather spend time with the Psychic Cat than this crowd.

It's been a little while since I was last in LA and this trip came at an opportune time to hang out with my sis and also make a quick trip down to Camp Pendleton where Sgt Hawes, one of my Marines from 4th LSB was graduating from Basic Reconnaissance Course- a lifelong dream of his and something that I am extremely proud of him for. Landing in LAX, I immediately remembered what LA means to me- lots and lots of plastic people who don't seem to know how to place Moscow on a map but definitely are in-tune with the latest and greatest on K-Fed & Britney's drama. Not everyone for sure- there are definitely plenty of people who I know who live in the greater LA area who are genuine, friendly and close friends and who would give their shirts of their backs for someone in need. But it doesn't take a great deal of effort to find someone who would gladly take your your friends shirt, then turn around and sell it along with their soul to see themselves on TV. That being said, I definitely don't mind the International Airport at all- the fashionista people watching there is among the best in the country. If I'm ever laid over at LAX or DFW thanks to weather or mechanical problems I'm never that upset. It's just so damn entertaining. But there is a downside and Thursday evening, walking through the secured area of the airport en route to the baggage carousel I couldn't believe my eyes. Waiting just past the bored TSA agent guarding the secured area exit was a mass of humanity on a Mumbai scale. It took 45 minutes to get my bag, and that was only after I fought my way back and forth between Carousel 1 where UA #976 was listed- then heard a woman on the overhead 20 minutes later announce that 976 bags were coming out on Carousel 3. After another 15 minutes a UA rep told me it was actually Carousel 1 and then again 10 minutes later I finally found it on 3. What a mess. Barbara was waiting to pick me up and asked if she should drive through again while I scared up my bag. I told her yes, but when I walked outside the snarl of traffic made it clear immediately that it was going to be a long, long time before she made it to where I was standing. And it did. Almost an hour later she pulled up through the maze of stopped buses, hotel shuttles, bitchy women and toughguy dudes who would randomly cut off others and then stop before some bored and frustrated traffic cop shooed them on. And there's word that the massive Airbus A380 superjumbo, capable of carrying over 800 people and recently unveiled by Singapore Airlines is soon to be introducing even more passengers into this mess. That'll be fun. Hope my bag isn't the last one out of the hold with those numbers.

So after spending time with Sgt Hawes yesterday and a good night sleep for the first time in many days, Barbara and I headed into town. The weather was nice, the sun was out for the first time in two weeks, and even the antiwar protesters were in a good mood. And then I saw them. Uggs everywhere! Per-capita, I think that one out of every four women in the greater Los Angeles basin are proud owners of Ugg boots and make up 85% of Ugg Corporation operating profits. And soooo glamorous! As clearly displayed from the picture at right, wearing Ugg boots make a person incredibly happy, stylish, and reflexively strike poses that remind one of constipation. Pink ones, brown ones, tan ones, blue ones. Tall tops, furry tops, low rider types, clog versions. They. Are. Everywhere. And, they look STUPID. Oh, hey everybody! I'm so cold down here in LA! I need to wear my Uggs to keep my toes from suffering frostbite. If the temperature drops below a balmy 65, it might snow here in Southern California, and I want to be ready. Sure, I'll still have on my tank top and mini skirt, but thankfully I'll be able to wade through the snow from where I parked my H2 to get back to my home safely in time to watch Entertainment Tonight without losing my feet.

Whatever. To me, it's just plain dumb. It's not like those of us that run around the mountains decide that it's fashionable to jump onto a crowded Tokyo subway during rush hour with an ice axe and crampons. Oh wait.. yeah we did do that. Ok, so maybe a shirtless Matthew McConaughey and Pam Anderson wandering around with them on make plenty of star-struck fans think that they have something in common if they just go out and buy a pair for themselves. But seriously. To me, they just look ridiculous. If we were wandering around a sub-zero Anchorage in the depths of a January winter hunting down a Wooly Mammoth and I saw some girl wearing them it probably wouldn't even make me blink. But when I'm wearing a polo and the woman wearing the Uggs has on barely enough clothes to recreate a napkin it just doesn't make sense to me. Aren't her feet sweating like crazy in there?

In LA, Ugg boots are so ingrained into the popular culture that toy stores even sell dolls wearing different versions. I swear that I'm not making that up. So what's up with Ugg wearing dolls? It's in the data, actually. Some dude with too much time on his hands did a quick evaluation of Uggs website, revealing that most hits are coming from 25-40 year old females that earn between $60 and $100k, reside in the New York and California areas (read: affluent urbanites) and was kind enough to have the foresight to know that I needed his research for this blog. If you cross reference his data with anecdotal articles dealing with footwear (I didn't) and web searches that reveal ad targeting strategies (I didn't care enough), from what other people tell me most Ugg purchasers are women and parents of Tween girls that have Uggs on their Christmas wish lists. And that's why Little Barbie is dressed out in Uggs and why if I have a girl one day she'll remain locked in her room until she's married if Uggs ever appear on her wish list.

Oh, Barbara found this pic taken in NYC thereby confirming transcontinental anti-Ugg sentiment while assisting with the detailed research that went into this blog. Seems to imply that I'm not alone in thinking that Uggs are ridiculous outside of the Arctic Circle.

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Bullion Basin & Frustrating Pilots

This past weekend my Seattle Mountain Rescue (SMR) teammate and I ended up heading out on a Search and Rescue (SAR) mission close to Crystal Mountain Ski Resort, located in the foothills east of 14,410' tall Mt Rainier. The storms that hit over the week while I was in London for training managed to unexpectedly dump several feet of new snow and then trigger several avalanches across the Cascades. As a result, when I returned to the US and turned my cell on, about 50 text messages came rolling in dealing with several unrelated groups that had managed to get themselves into trouble, requiring SMR to head out to extract them and provide care starting as early as Tuesday. By the end of the week, one particular group who had headed out into the back country for a snowboarding trip up and over from Crystal Mountain continued to be lost with no trace.

So on Saturday, my teammates and I headed out at 05:30 in our fully loaded Expedition, arriving at search base around 07:30. After receiving our assignments and designating who would go with what team, we were inserted two ranges away by UH-1 helo to a remote and high angle search area. As we flew in, I was surprised to see the sheer number of avalanche that had hit this particular area over the last few days. Just about every slope and exposed run across several bowls showed some form of avalanche result, so given how long these three men had been missing coupled with all those slides made their chances of survival seem pretty slim. Holding on to hope, we learned that one of the three had just purchased an avalanche beacon the day of their disappearance.. so if he picked up batteries at the same time, they would have been the most fresh and possibly still capable of a charge. If we could pick up a signal, we would be able to vector in on any one of them and hopefully find them alive somewhere holed up and ready for evacuation.

Our team of 6 hit a very small LZ nestled in between pine trees and after breaking up assignments into teams of two (there were two SMR, two SPART and two Central Washington Mtn Rescue in our team) ranging from the base of an avalanche to straight up the center slope of an 800' face riddled with avalanche debris, we used our beacons and walked zig-zag to see if we couldn't find any trace of the missing snowboarders or pick up an emitted signal. We searched and searched with no results but occasionally one of us would pick up a ghost ping where our beacon would ping, we would look at each other with worried expression, and then spend 10 minutes combing that area with wands and cadaver dogs. All things considered, it seemed downright eerie. We came across the snowboarders "hut", a home made shelter carefully built by the three deep in the treeline and perfectly placed to take advantage of all these pure runs without having to worry about lift lines or other boarders. They had spent literally months working on this hut, complete with moss to plug holes in the wood sides for insulation, a cast iron stove (try considering that in your pack), tarps to cover the door and a well constructed and leakproof roof. It was well camouflaged to keep NPS Rangers from finding it given that the structure wasn't exactly authorized and it was located on National Park land. But given the level of complexity (the cast iron chimney even had a little home made roof to keep snow out of the top) and obvious frequency of visits (found a cord of evenly sawed wood and canned food with a receipt from November) for them to have missed their shelter as they traveled enroute didn't make sense. And yet there was no trace. So the more likely scenario was that they had triggered an avalanche on the way in, and through the week's storms likely had another one drop on top of them. If that had happened, it would be spring before any trace revealed itself. Grim, I know. But very strange and one of the reasons that we all spent so much time focusing on the ghost pings and probing of fields where it seemed likely they might have been.

It is funny how even in the darkest of times there comes a moment where you can truly relish life and where even simple, little things often overlooked when caught up in the day-to-day rush of things just pass you by. It happened in Iraq all the time. At the end of another day, every once in a blue moon my buddies and I would ascend to the top of a tower somewhere, smoke a cigar in the blast furnace heat and stare wistfully at an absolutely beautiful orange arabian sunset. There in Bullion Basin, thrown straight into this grim day where the odds of finding the boarders alive came a moment where Scott and I ascended straight up a 45 degree slope through chest deep snow to pop out on the very tip top of an icy ridgeline that held a stunning view of the east face of Mt Rainier. On an afternoon of mild temperature, no wind and blue skies, it seemed odd to be looking out at this beautiful scene staring awestruck at the magesty of a massive volcano so close, yet hear the constant clatter of search helicopters scouring the treeline 1000' below us and radio chatter of search teams coming up empty handed. Throwing down a handfull of Sour Patch Kids, Scott and I moved on, descending back into the trees and reenergized to continue along our search path.

Toward the end of the day we were told that the search was called off and we had 10 minutes to quickly descend to our LZ for pickup. We moved pretty quick, arriving at the LZ and calling the helo to let them know that we were ready to head back to base. That's when we heard another rescuer acting as relay who told us sorry, the pilots decided they were done and were heading home. I just stared at Scott in disbelief and shook my head, asking our SPART teammate to reconfirm what we had just heard. Thanks, pilots. So, as it turns out, pilots are the same all over the place! Not just in the Marines. How many times have I found myself on the short end of a helo ride where I ended up having to use black cadillacs for egress while the pilots were hanging out in the O Club hitting on nurses. Apparently at least once more.

Scott ended up laughing as I bitched and complained about pilots for the next 4 hours as we broke trail and post holed over 7 miles through hip deep snow to navigate 1,000' up, then across and over two mountain ranges to get home. In the fading light of day, I reached the final ridge and looked down into the new valley. Way, far off in the distance, about as large as an N gauge train model set sat the ski lodge bathed in orange glow. From where we stood in the dark, the trail wound down down down through tree stands and additional avalanche fields to the ski area and it took our collective team close to 5 hrs to get back to base. Chowing down on a meal that Steve had kindly saved for us, we packed up, loaded on board the truck, and headed home.

Ultimately, I don't know what happened to the three boarders. Scott and I talked about it and speculated as to what had happened to them, but with additional winter storms inbound and at least three more months of solid winter weather it may be late spring before anyone knows. Hopefully, in a remote long shot the three are holed up in a hotel somewhere sleeping.

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So Long, Big Christmas Tree

I know this post is going to sound snobby, and given that I have witnessed people in dozens of third world countries live off of $1 a day, maybe it is. But this past weekend my sister and I experienced the end of an era, so I thought it was something worth writing about as we mourn the passing of a family tradition. For the last 15 years or so, our family has picked up Christmas trees that were big- huge even. Part of it was the sheer enjoyment of feeling overwhelmed by Christmas spirit, some of it was the fun of the event, some of it could even be chalked up to the trip to get the tree.

I'm sure that just about everyone has seen Christmas Vacation at this point, and specifically the opening scene where Clark Griswold takes the family way out into the wilderness only to return with a tree so big that when the binding cords are cut, tree limbs fly out windows and the size lays general havoc to the living room. For our family, there's a bit of truth to that. It typically takes all four of us the greater part of thirty minutes to get the tree into the house, base installed, and then vertical- complete with structural support and guy lines attached. Sap is on everything and you are never surprised at the unique places that pine needles find themselves over the next two days.

Admittedly, there are plenty of other famous trees that go up during the Holidays- Rockefeller Center and the White House spring to mind. I even saw a CNN report on the White House tree that said that there are actually specific dimensions. Seriously. According to the White House, the Christmas Tree has to be specifically 18 1/2' tall, 13' around, and have "strong, full branches" Who comes up with this stuff? Equally amusing were the interviews of onlookers who were on-site for the tree cut down and bundling: "..exciting time for the area and to come see this once in a lifetime opportunity."

So our specifications aren't quite like that, but it does breed nostalgia for us and as a result I think it's important to start from the beginning. Two days after Thanksgiving, the Sexton Family Tree Farm opens for business about 2 1/2 miles away from our house on Old Dominion Rd. There, Mr. Sexton scurries around, yelling at a flock of teenager boys who are either from Langley High School or Freshmen in college, looking for a quick buck through brute tree labor. These kids are there dressed in pine-covered sweatshirts and jeans while a fleet of cars and SUVs drive in and then 20 minutes later drive out with a big tree tied to the top. There are big trees, little trees and gargantuan trees. Mr Sexton has them all neatly arranged into groups, and the intent of being there first thing is dad's insistence on picking up one that's freshly cut. He believes that if you get a tree within days of its being cut the thing will last much longer than if you procrastinate and grab one the week before Christmas. And like almost everything, he's right on the money. I think a few years back we had a tree that lasted until close to March and still looked like it had life left in it. When I dragged it out into the backyard Christmas Tree graveyard, I actually dug a hole and put the bottom 6 or 7 inches into the hole under the stupid assumption that the tree actually had a fighting chance. It promptly died.

Once we have sufficiently tired out a bunch of teenagers who have to drag out and stand up four or five trees that range in height from 12' to 14' tall, we select one, mom grabs 100 pine boughs that she'll never use for wreaths and then we lash the tree to the roof of whatever car we have chosen to torture on that given day. Given the hierarchy of cars in our family, this usually ends up being mine, but not the CJ-7 that's now gracing their garden as a winter squirrel home. Then the slow drive begins, where the tree strains against its tie-downs as we hit a cranking 20 mph through windy back roads leading back home. Once in the driveway, the whole family gathers again to literally drag a 150 lb tree into the house, its branches scraping now-green stained door jams and leaving a trail of pine needles that even a blind routefinder could follow. We hammer on the same base we have used consecutively for 10 years, throw the thing into the air in a scene reminiscent of the Suribachi flag raising, and then quickly tie it off to anything we can use as an ad-hoc anchor. For the rest of the night, and into the following day we decorate the crap out of the tree, putting up at least 8 light strands and about 500 ornaments. The decorations range in size and design, but largely conform to a red and straw motif which makes it look very Christmasy and does look really cool in the end. Dad then continues with a ritual watering schedule that even includes a flashlight for evening hours in order to throw in 2 gallons of water a day to keep it looking nice. By Christmas, when it's time for presents and the ritual family pictures it still looks every bit as fresh as when we picked it up.

This year, it was different from the start. Mom wants a smaller tree, stating the new floors as a reason for the downsizing. So dad goes along for the ride. After a few confusing questions and glances from Barb and I, the three of us (Mom sat this one out? What's going on here?) head to Sexton's Tree Farm, and pull in to find the lot literally deserted. There are about 20 teenage kids sitting on their asses, and Mr Sexton himself turns out to be inside taking a nap. Once we park, only one kid comes forward to help- the rest sit there and grumble, probably talking about.. you know, I can't even remember what 17 year old guys talk about anymore. Probably something geopolitical and thought producing.

We are the only ones on the lot looking for trees, and instead of head over to the big ones, we settle on the smaller pile. I don't know if it's the economy, or what. But the fact of the matter is that trees in the smaller pile end up being $115, while trees in the larger pile are a whopping $280. I also don't know who came up with their pricing strategy, but when a tree that's 10' tall is $115, and then a tree that is 11' tall is $165 more, someone needs to go and do some thinking about how these things are marked. Seriously, wtf? Just for that reason alone, why not take a 10' tree and stick it on a pedestal or something. You could go out and buy one for $100 and still end up way ahead.

As we drag out a few surprisingly light trees to compare, Dad makes comment on a few occasions about getting some of our assistants friends to come over and give him some help, but none of them do because they clearly are too deep into that very geopolitical and thought producing discussion to come over.

Anyway, so our kid holds up trees and then in the end helps us lash the tree down to the car. Where this usually takes twenty minutes, today it takes about five. Dad goes inside to pay and wakes up Mr. Sexton, who never even makes a cameo appearance. His son (I'm guessing) comes to the car, lights up some kids lazing around, and then sends a few home, I'm sure at their shock. The rest just sit there looking surly. Dad gives our helper a fat tip (take that, lazy ass kids), and we are off, easily hitting 40mph on our way home.

Getting the tree off the car and into the house is a breeze- I just lifted the thing and carried it in by myself. No pine needle trail, no branches scraping walls and leaving behind a light green tint. We hammered on a base and up it went on it's first try- without any support wires needed! It just stands there all by itself. Wow.. trees do that.

We strung lights, and to cover the entire tree it took us 4 strands this time. Loading on as many lights, ornaments and bulbs as we could the entire decorating process took on a streamlined feel- I think we knocked out the decorating in about an hour. At the end, there were still plenty of decorations left in the box and spare light strands on the floor that ended up going back downstairs. Mom was happy, Dad was quiet, and Barb and I were reminiscing of the old days.


At first, I think we were all freaked out at the prospect of a tiny tree. But I guess in the end, it's meant to be. Spending that much on a tree is a bit ridiculous, although it was an amazing addition to the Holidays. In the end, it looks like even the ritualistic neutering of the old tree where Dad takes pruning shears and cuts the tree one limb at a time so that in the end it looks like what a cat does after you dunk it in a bathtub is over. But like records are made to be broken, maybe traditions are made to be upended. Mom invented about 20 this past weekend, from Doug-Makes-Thanksgiving-Omelets to some crazy prayer circle hug thing. So maybe those new traditions can take the place of a massive tree, but I still think that it'll be sorely missed.


By the way, what's up with all the Segways in DC these days? Reminds me of Arrested Development and Gob's favorite way of getting around.










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