Rip Snorter's Blog

Dialogue with the Abyss

 

Admonition . A Dialogue with the Abyss

Back against the abyss

Eyes ears nose strain forward

Into smelly chaos cacophony

Slap, pain. pink worm screams

Light blur heavy air

Masked bandit

It’s a boy..”

Bandit vanishes

(What the hell?)

Blur coos tweaks incubators

(Anything I need to know

About this crap?)

“You’re going to die..”

(Well, at least there’s that.

These other bastards got to stay?)

”No. Them too.

All going to die..”

(Weird. So what we waiting for?

Let’s get this show on the road.)

“You have to wait a while.

Those others have to die

First. Mostly.. “

(Cripes! I gotta stand in line?)

.

“That’s a way of looking at it.. “

(So what the hell am I supposed to do

Meanwhile?)

.

“Forget what I’ve just told you.

You’ll find something.. “

(It’s so damned boring

And it even hurts)

“Don’t look back

Keep your eyes away

From where you’ve been

And where you’re going..”

(But all these other bastards

Stirring around making racket

Doing backflips and cartwheels

What the hell is that all about?)

“Before you can talk about it

You’ll come to think

All that is what's important. “

(Say what?)

“Watch them you’ll soon see

They never look into the abyss..”

(Yeah. I noticed

They’re playing pinball

And masturbating

Let me the hell out of here)

.

“Don’t try to cut in line

Ahead of someone else.

You’ll screw things up.

I mean it..”

From Poems of the New Old West

Copyright 2002 Jack Purcell

Entry #442

Risks and risk taking

Morning blogsters:

Today marks an event I never expected to see.

That old star that's about to light things up is going to shake its head and shrug when it looks down and sees there I am again, come spang around it one more time.

Back in the late 1970s I had occasion to spend some time looking around nursing homes.  I managed to do it enough times and look them over closely enough to convince myself that we Americans haven't kept our eye on the ball when it comes to living and being alive.

The people in those nursing homes are alive, but they aren't overjoyed about it, and the life they're living only has in common with actual life that the bodies and food are warm.  The caretakers roll them back and forth or they hobble between television sets, meals, games, then through the long hallways filled with the forever odor of urine, back to their rooms.

I did a lot of thinking about why that happens, those coffins for the living.  Of one thing I was certain.  I didn't want it to happen to me.

The reason, I decided, people end up in those places is because they live longer than they'd have expected to, wanted to.  The reason they lived so long was that they took all kinds of measures to make certain they did, increasing the intensity and focus as they years built up on them.

Every year those elderly reduced the numbers and kinds of risks they took.  They watched their diets, quit doing things they enjoyed when they were younger, many barely did anything at all as they reached into the advanced years of retirement besides a golf game or sea cruise.

And they got what they paid for.  Lives that endured long past anything a person would call living.  They sidestepped and hid and and ran from Death, and he didn't find them when he was supposed to.  So now they sit around strapped into wheel chairs watching rolling television screens paying the price for being too worried about dying when they were still alive.

That's when I came to an important conclusion about how I wanted to live my own life. 

From that time until now one of the rituals I've tried to perform around birthday time and New Years Day involves examination of the physical risks I'm taking now, and how I'm going to increase them during the coming year. 

How I'm going to be out there when Death comes looking for me, in a place where he can find me, doing something I love to do. 

Living life and being grateful for it every moment I'm blessed with it, but being absolutely aware that old Death doesn't have a lot of patience sometimes. 

If he can't find you when he comes looking, he's a busy fella and he might just go snag some others and forget about you until you are boxed up in a urine-smell generator watching a rolling television and can't hide from him anymore.

Jack

 

 

 

 

 

Entry #441

Fox Mountain pics

 

A burned out cabin ruin with an aspen tree growing out of the inside, bear claw marks 12 feet up, 3 hand forged nails, a longtom sluicebox axed out of a 3 foot diameter log, a spring 75 feet above the sluice, an arrastra below. 

 

A mysterious map chiseled on the face of a 300 pound rock surface depicting the exact layout of the canyon, the cabin, the waterfall, all so accurately depicted the person had to have scrutinized the layout from the mountaintop, then scratched it on this stone 600 vertical feet below and half a mile away.  The rock was carefully placed on the canyon wall above eye-level so it was easily seen, but only by someone looking up:

Symbols carved into rock faces long ago on the upper-west face of the mountain below the most heavily worked quartz outcroppings near the crest.

We found everything aspiring searchers could want except the Lost Adams Diggings during that 1998 search.

Entry #440

Bird Flu - the other side

http://drnorthrup.com/eletter-current.php

Christiane Northrup, M.D.

A SANE APPROACH TO THE CURRENT HYSTERIA ABOUT BIRD FLU

Every fall, people ask me whether they should get a flu shot. My answer is no. But what about this year? For months, the media has been covering the bird flu, forecasting deaths of immense proportions and claiming that this is the most potent strain of flu virus in nearly a century, when deaths from a flu pandemic in 1918 claimed millions of lives worldwide. They tell us that it’s only a matter of time. Given that there’s no shortage of legitimate natural disasters to report on, you’ve got to wonder why the media is beating the drum of bird flu right now. (I have some ideas but I’m not going to go there. I’m sure you can come to your own conclusions.) Instead, I want to provide you with a rational and empowering way to think about the flu so that you can take care of yourself and your loved ones. Let’s start by getting the facts about bird flu straight.

Bird Flu: Fact or Fiction

The bird flu (or avian flu) as has been around for years. It’s not a recent apocalyptic event. Birds that come down with the flu carry it in their intestines. Like humans, not all birds get sick—even though the flu is easily spread and highly infectious. Interestingly, wild birds seem less susceptible than those raised by humans. People get the bird flu by coming in contact with sick birds. So if you tend birds on a farm or where they are raised commercially, your risk is much greater. According to the CDC, the risk “is generally low to most people because the viruses occur mainly among birds and do not usually infect humans. However, during an outbreak of bird flu among poultry (domesticated chicken, ducks, turkeys), there is a possible risk to people who have contact with infected birds or surfaces that have been contaminated with excretions from infected birds. The current outbreak of avian influenza A (H5N1) among poultry in Asia and Europe is an example of a bird flu outbreak that has caused human infections and deaths.” Although epidemiologists have been talking for years about it being “only a matter of time,” I just don’t understand the magnitude of panic that exists today. While the H5N1 bird flu virus has passed from birds to people, according to the CDC it “has not been observed to continue beyond one person.” (For more reassuring information from the CDC, visit http://www.cdc.gov/flu/avian/gen-info/facts.htm.)

Symptoms of the Bird Flu

I think part of the fear people have is the belief that if they get this particular bird flu, it will be significantly worse than any flu they’ve ever had. This just isn’t the case. What is the bird flu like? From what we can tell, the symptoms are similar to most other flu viruses and include fever, aches and pains, nasal congestion, and a cough. (You should not expect intestinal distress.) Your likelihood of dying from the flu is very low. You aren’t really at risk unless you develop a secondary infection. These are caused by bacteria that linger in the lungs or nasal passages, which can lead to bronchitis or sinusitis, for example. These bacterial infections are what ultimately lead to more serious complications, such as pneumonia, which is what people actual die from when they get the flu. Those who are most likely to get these secondary infections are those who already have compromised immune systems due to the drugs they are taking (e.g. steroids), from smoking, taking in excess alcohol, eating a nutrient-poor diet, or those who are under an unusual amount of stress. There is ample evidence that the reason so many young men died in the influenza epidemic of 1918 was because they were soldiers who were already severely stressed out by the harsh and overly crowded living conditions of trench warfare in WWI.

Why I Don't Recommend the Flu Shot

I know you’ve all been hearing that you should get a flu shot to protect yourself against possible bird flu. But I don’t agree. The bottom line is flu vaccines aren’t effective, they aren’t safe, and they may compromise your body’s natural immunity. This is a complex subject that I’ve researched meticulously. (I discuss my thoughts on immunizations in great detail in Mother-Daughter Wisdom [Bantam, 2005], and I urge you to read Chapter 9.) Although the medical community would have you believe that getting a flu shot is a sure-fire way to prevent the flu (and save your life!), the truth is that flu vaccines are inherently “hit or miss.” The manufacturers get together before the current year’s flu shot is developed to decide which flu strains will be included in this year’s vaccine. It’s common for 10,000 strains to be included in any given vaccine. Yet despite this coverage, these toxic tails often exclude the flu virus infecting the population at present. This is true of the vaccine available today, which offers no protection whatsoever against bird flu!

What about the effectiveness of flu vaccines over time? A Journal of the American Medical Association study from the Archives of Internal Medicine led by Lone Simonsen, Ph.D. and published in February, 20051 reported some unexpected results, at least as far as the medical establishment is concerned. Although the number of elderly patients aged 65 or older receiving vaccines increased from roughly 17 percent in 1980 to 65 percent in 2001, deaths from the flu also increased during this period. Despite all the media hype, researchers determined that fewer than ten percent of all winter deaths could be attributed to the flu in any given year studied. Dr. Simonsen and his team concluded: “We could not correlate increasing vaccination coverage after 1980 with declining mortality rates in any age group. Because fewer than 10 percent of all winter deaths were attributable to influenza in any season, we conclude that observational studies substantially overestimate vaccination benefits.” Well said, doctor!

It’s obvious to some, but bears mentioning, that there are true risks in inoculating oneself or one’s children with 10,000 strains of any virus! Part of the danger is that when large portions of the population are vaccinated, more virulent strains of the flu develop over time. This has been a trend with infectious disease ever since the overuse of antibiotics became so rampant in our nation. Rather than increasing our body’s ability to fight off the germs it comes in contact with, we’re actually compromising our body’s natural immune system and increasing our vulnerability to more deadly strains.

The injection becomes even more toxic when you consider that many of the flu vaccines contain Thimerosol, a preservative containing mercury. Research by H. Hugh Fudenberg, M.D., an immunogeneticist and author of hundreds of papers in peer review journals, has linked the flu shot with Alzheimer’s Disease. After studying people who received shots between 1970 and 1980, he concluded that those individuals who received five consecutive vaccines were ten times more likely to get Alzheimer's Disease than someone who had two shots or fewer (during the years studied). Dr. Fudenberg attributes this to the gradual mercury and aluminum buildup in the brain, which causes cognitive dysfunction.

How to Protect Your Health Now

Let me remind you that listening to media hysteria on the news can actually make you more susceptible to everything. Feeling vulnerable and fearful compromises the immune system and exacerbates the feeling that we’re not safe on the earth, which ultimately makes one much more susceptible to illness. After the 9/11 attacks, the heart attack rate increased significantly in our local hospital even though nothing was going on here except our increased feeling of vulnerability! Similarly, when hurricane Wilma struck Cancun, the Red Cross director Ricardo Portugal said, “The biggest problem so far were ‘nervous crises,’ and eleven pregnant women who had gone into early labor and had to be ferried to hospitals.”

So take a deep breath and ask yourself the following: Do I routinely come into contact with birds that might be infected with H5N1? Do I touch unhygienic surfaces where bird droppings are? Am I touching or cooking poultry that may be contaminated because it comes from a part of the world where birds are dying from the flu? Is anyone close to me doing this? If the answer is no, then you can relax. (And if the answer is “yes,” there’s still a lot you can do to beef up your immunity and protect yourself.) Of course bird flu is only one of thousands of viruses that circulate in the population in the winter. And some people will get the flu this year, just as in the past. If you want to protect yourself and your family, the best line of defense is to take steps to boost your immune system. Here are a few things I suggest for general flu prevention:

  • Supplement every day with a good multi-vitamin, such as USANA’s Essentials or the Health Pak, or Verified Quality’s Super Multi Complex. One of the first things people notice when they begin a good supplementation program is they no longer get as many colds as they did before! So taking one of the multi’s mentioned above may be all you need to do to prevent colds and flu!
  • During the height of flu season, take 1–2 grams of vitamin C a day. (Any form is good.)
  • Make sure to get adequate amounts of vitamin D daily. The immune system has all kinds of vitamin D receptors on it and most people don't get nearly enough! I recommend at least 1,000 IU per day, which you can get in the USANA Essentials plus USANA’s Active Calcium formula. Cod liver oil is another good source of Vitamin D.
  • Kold Kare is an herbal supplement has been clinically proven to boost immunity and help prevent colds and flu. Take two every day during the winter or to prevent colds. Or take two at the first sign of a cold (for me that’s a scratchy throat). Then take two in the morning and two at night for five days or so.
  • Zicam zinc nasal spray is another effective remedy. So are Cold-Eeze lozenges with homeopathic zinc.
  • Maintain a peaceful home and a positive mental attitude. Remember, through the Law of Attraction, we create the state of our body by the thoughts we think, so see yourself and your family as strong, resilient, and happy.
  • Eat nutritious whole, organic foods and avoid spiking your blood sugar when possible. Just one can of soda can decrease the immune system by 50 percent for hours.
  • Have some immune system enhancers on hand before you catch a cold. Then they will be there at the first sign of infection.

If you contract the flu or if you come in contact with someone who has the flu, relax! The following is a list of products I recommend. You don’t need to have all of them, but I’d recommend at least three different types. They all work synergistically:

Add the immune boosters Kold Kare, Samento, Sambucol, or extra vitamin C, and/or proanthocyanidins (OPCs) or Umcka Cold Care. I use ascorbic acid capsules (1,000 mg, which is 1 gram, each). I recommend 1 gram every hour until you have reached bowel tolerance, which will manifest as loose stools. There is enormous variation among individuals concerning how much vitamin C they can take without experiencing gastrointestinal distress. Start slow and work up.

Use Kold Kare as above. Proanthocyanidins can be used at the level of 1 mg per pound of body weight in divided doses throughout the day. For example, a 150-pound woman would take a minimum of 150 mg, which is about 50 mg 3 times per day.

In conclusion, I also recommend that you stop watching the news on television, especially before going to bed. Your central nervous system and immune system were never designed to process all the bad news from around the planet every day. In fact, we were designed to deal with what’s in front of us in our own communities. And guess what? If you take care of that, the world takes care of itself! May you enjoy your most vibrant and healthy winter ever!

 

 

Entry #439

The basic legend

Here's one of the numerous versions of the tale:

W. W. Williams, (later of Williams, AZ) accompanied Adams and Shaw on one of their searches into the Mogollons. This account appeared in identical form in newspapers throughout the southwest during the two or three years just prior to and after the turn of the century. The earliest copy I have located was in the Socorro Chieftain, 1898. (An almost identical version in the Denver Post, January 1899, is attributed to A. M. Sammons.)


The Lost Cabin Mine

Like the Stories of the big fish that were never caught, many tales of lost gold mines of fabulous richness have appeared in the newspapers from time to time. The most famous of these is the Lost Cabin Mine, in search of which many men are said to have lost their lives, and as yet it remains undiscovered. Most of these tales are, no doubt, mythical, yet such is the insatiable thirst of mankind for sudden wealth that searchers for lost mines do not always stop to inquire as to the probability of the truthfulness of the stories which start them out on long and expensive journeys, which usually, if not always, result in disappointment and sometimes terrible suffering, as well as loss of life.

No region is as inhospitable or inaccessible as to deter these hardy and eager seekers after the precious treasures hidden deep in nature's darkest and loneliest recesses from risking life itself in order to drag them forth and make them ministers to their comfort and happiness.

The story which I am going to relate of the lost placer gold mine does not belong to the mythical class. There were so many participants in its first discovery, and the incidents relating thereto are so well known in California and elsewhere as to remove the story from the realm of fiction and place it among the remarkable occurrences which have characterized the search for gold in the West since the day when Marshall made his famous discovery of the existence of the precious metal on Sutter's creek in California. The story is as follows:

In the spring of 1883, I was approached by an old acquaintance who invited me to join a party which was being made up to prospect in the Mogollon Mountains. As I had just returned from that region, and knew that Geronimo and some renegade Apaches were on Stampede in that vicinity, I declined the invitation, but afterwards, by reason of some inducements which were held out to me, I reconsidered my declination and joined the party. The object of the expedition was to rediscover, if possible, a placer mine of incredible richness. In the party was one of the original discoverers of the mine, and the story which he told in regard to it goes something like this:

In the fall of 1858, a party of Californians arrived at Yuma at the mouth of the Gila River where it enters the big Colorado. They had heard of great placer mines to be found in the sands of Arizona, and were in search of thereof. The party consisted of twenty-two men and a full complement of saddle and pack horses. While making inquiries of the Yuma Indians as to their best and most feasible route up the Gila River, which runs nearly due east and west through Arizona, they found it necessary to have an interpreter, the Spanish language being unfamiliar to most of the Californians. A young man with the Yuma tribe, who could speak Spanish, was brought into service to act in that capacity, and the desired information was procured. Just before the departure of the gold-seekers they were visited by the young interpreter, who requested to see the leader of the band. His request was granted, when he said: "Señors: I am Mexican. I was born on the banks of the Rio Grande, in Texas. The Apaches killed my parents and made me a captive. I remained with them for several years. I was then traded to the Maricopas, who in turn traded me to the Yumas. I am a slave and a drudge. I wish you would buy me. If you will, I will show you where there is more gold than your horses can pack." He was closely questioned but he adhered strongly to his story and described with great particularity the place where the precious metal was to be found in such great quantity. His statement was so earnestly made and he seemed to be so honest in it, that it made a strong impression upon the party, and negotiations were entered into with the Indians to secure his release. After much palaver and dickering the Indians agreed to take a few ponies for their captive, and the exchange was made.

The story of the young Mexican was, in brief, this: He said that a few years after his capture by the White Mountain Apaches they began to take him with them on their various expeditions, as they seemed to be satisfied that he was reconciled to living with them and would not attempt to escape. One of these trips was made to the south fork of the Gila River. While there he was shown pieces of yellow metal. The Indians told him it was "white man's money", and if they knew of its existence the country would be taken from the Indians, their game all killed, and that they would have no homes. Being young, he knew nothing of its value. Afterwards, he saw it passed in the purchase of goods, and so ascertained that it was of great worth. He also knew that in the region whence it came there were large quantities to be had for the digging. He said that it would be found on one of the tributaries of the Gila, one of the landmarks being three mountain peaks which lay in the form of a triangle, two streams coming together at the foot of the central peak. The gold, he said, was on the right hand stream.

The trip up the Gila was uneventful. After passing over some rugged country, their guide informed them that it would be necessary to leave the river, as there was a box canyon near by which prevented further progress along its banks. Two days afterwards the three peaks described by the Mexican were discovered, and the party was in high spirits over the probability that the story was correct, and that they were on the eve of a rich discovery which would make their fortunes. Camp was made that night, and in the morning the guide, accompanied by two of the party, went ahead to pick out the best route. They had gone but a short distance when they were ambushed by a party of Indians and all three were killed . The remainder of the party, nothing daunted by the untoward incident, continued on their journey, following the route which the Mexican had laid down for them. They soon reached the spot which he had described. An examination disclosed the fact that he had not exaggerated the matter, for they found gold in great abundance. Claims were quickly located and a few rough cabins were erected . Having no lumber nor the means of sawing any, they were compelled to resort to ground sluicing, which was done by cutting channels to bedrock and running the water through them.

The party pooled their gold and placed it in a large camp kettle, kept it concealed under a rock in front of the hearth in one of the cabins. They had filled their kettle with gold, valued as nearly as they could estimate it, at about $200,000, when it was determined to send part of the crowd back to Yuma with the treasure, and to procure provisions, tools and other necessary articles, and also to inform friends of their good luck. It was thought that the round trip would consume six weeks. Twelve men were selected to make the journey, the others agreeing to remain and work the claims for the benefit of all.

Six weeks passed away but the party did not return. After waiting two weeks longer, two of the party volunteered to go and meet them as the food supply was running low, and they were on short rations; the kettle being nearly full again. They left the camp at daybreak and ascended the side of the canyon to the mesa, which they had no sooner reached than they heard the sound of firearms to their rear. Looking back they discovered that the camp had been attacked by a large body of Indians, who were slaughtering their comrades before their eyes and burning their rude huts. They became panic stricken and started in haste for the Gila River. About noon, while passing through a rocky gorge, they were horrified by beholding the bleaching bones of their twelve companions who, two months before, had started for Yuma, but the gold was missing. The remainder of the story is told by a captain of the United States Army, who at the time was stationed at Fort Bliss.

This officer stated that he left Fort Bliss under orders to proceed to the Gila River and explore the country as far west as the Mogollon Mountains. He had a detachment with him. When they reached the river they were unable to cross by reason of the high water, so they went into camp on the river bank. The next morning two objects were discovered wandering aimlessly about on the opposite side of the river. Their appearance puzzled the soldiers, for they had no idea there was anybody in the vicinity. A field glass was brought into requisition, and it was finally determined that the objects were white men, but what they meant by their erratic movements was still a puzzle.

A sergeant and two privates volunteered to cross the dangerous stream and investigate. They succeeded in crossing safely, and after much maneuvering, succeeded in capturing the men, who were in a dazed condition and offered no resistance. They proved, in fact, entirely insane from the lack of food and by reason of exposure. With careful nursing they were, in a few days, partially restored to reason and they were able to tell the stories of their adventures and suffering a sort of coherent manner. They had in their possession a number of nuggets of gold to the amount of several hundred dollars. Adams, for that is the name of one of the unfortunate men, and his companion were taken to Fort Bliss. From thence they went to Brownsville, Texas, and afterwards to California.

Shortly after their arrival in California, Adams' companion was stricken with paralysis as a result of his terrible exposure, and was thereby rendered helpless for life. Adams joined the California volunteers, with whom he served during the war. After the close of the war he embarked on business in San Francisco and prospered. As soon as he accumulated sufficient money he organized a party to go in search of the mine which he had left under such tragic circumstances. Indians repulsed them, and several subsequent expeditions with the same object met with failure by reason of being unable to again locate the mine.
Afterwards he came to Lake Valley to organize a party to make a final effort to find the mine. The captain who rescued him and his companion had retired from the service, but he was located in New York and confirmed the story. I joined the party and we went to Gila Hot Springs, thence west into the Mogollon Mountains, prospected the gulches and canyons as we went along, but we failed to find the mine or any other placer ground. The three mountain peaks were unable to locate, and we returned to Lake Valley having spent two months in the vain search.

I am now inclined to think that the mine is located at the headwaters of the San Francisco river in the Blue mountains, which lie to the west of the Mogollons. The Mexican guide probably confused the above named stream with the north fork of the Gila River. Adams returned to California soon after the trip and died there. It is firmly believed by old timers that the placer diggings exist, and that some day they will be found to give up their great wealth, together with the kettleful of gold left there.

W.W. Williams
Socorro Chieftain
1898

Entry #438

The unsolved homicides

That little tributary channel that got me expounding about things of no interest to you non-southwestern blogsters diverted me from filling your hearts with adventure and your heads with more yarns about treasure hunting.

Here's something to get me back on track.

Early in the '90s I came across a canyon that satisfied a lot of the needs to be the Lost Adams Diggings.  It had most of the right stuff men have searched for during the last 150 years.  The place occupied several years of my life, took me through a couple of lady friends and wore two good vehicles down to a small nub.

The place was located on a mountain in Catron County, New Mexico.  Fox Mountain.

One weekend in '93 or '94, I took off in my old Mitzubishi Montero with the intention of spending a couple of weeks down there solving it all.  I was about twenty miles out of Grants, NM, when a hose sprung a leak and the Mitzu began steaming under the hood.  I nursed it in to a parts house in Grants, feeding it water every mile or so, got the hose and changed it.  All during a light rainfall.

I was chilled to the bone when I finished, my clothes soaked, but I was in a hurry to get down there and set up camp, maybe get some work done before nightfall.  I didn't change out of those wet clothes, just headed on down.

By the time I got to the place I was going to set up camp and trek in I could tell I'd been another of the many fools I've been.  I was running a fever and my chest was in a vice.  I decided to just throw down a sleeping bag and pull a pancho over me to let this thing go on over.

That night I burned alive with fever.  I was hallucinating and getting the blind staggers when I tried to walk.  Finally, about mid-day the following day I knew I'd best try to get out of there while I could.

I made it back to Albuquerque and crashed on the living room floor of a lady friend for several days getting over pneamonia.  While I was lying there she told me the news.  Somewhere down there in the same area as my claim there was a couple, Gary and Judy Wilson, missing.  Search and Rescue was scouring the area for them.

I'd never met Gary and Judy Wilson, but I knew their sign.  They were woodcutters, and I knew the kind of soft-drinks they preferred, their footprints, their habits from studying where they'd been ahead of me.

It was about nine months later when their bodies were discovered a couple of canyons over from where I was working, folded up yen/yang style together buried carefully in an ancient ruin in a 4x4x4 hole by someone who knew an awfully lot about forensics and police investigations.  A bear dug them up and ate away all the soft tissue, leaving them for elk hunters to find.

Gary and Judy Wilson were a part of a series of homicides committed within a 25 mile radius of that place over a period of a couple of years.  Those homicides remain unsolved today, but the reasons they were probably murdered were a matter of constant problems for me for several years, working that mountain. 

It took a lot of the fun out of it, being constantly stalked by folks who didn't want me on that mountain, and for the law enforcement people who appeared to be cooperating with them.  They warned me off every way they knew how short of putting me into a 4x4x4 hole they already had prepared in another ancient ruin.  (Disturbed me some, I'll confess, when I stumbled across that vacant hole sitting there waiting for me)

I always figured someday a homicide investigator would want to ask me some questions about that weekend Gary and Judy vanished.  I had a lot of discussions with them about other matters, but that one never interested them.  The prevailing opinion expressed by law enforcement personnel working in that county was that I needed to stay the hell off that mountain.

I'll probably have some more anecdotes about incidents over the next few years in later blog entries.

Jack

 

Entry #437

Wolves and other large predators on public lands

Hi blogsters:

Cowgirlpoets blog entry got me thinking about the whole issue.  It's a problem.

The public, through the elected government, has decided it would like to continue to have large dangerous predators on wild, public lands.  Those predators occasionally kill livestock and people.

The issue's a thorny one caused by conflicts of private and public interests.  But on public lands there should be no question of which interests are to be furthered.

Ranchers who lease grazing rights on public lands have no choice, shouldn't have any choice, other than to bend to the public choices and priorities about the uses for that land.  If they don't want to lose calves to large predators they need to graze their cows on land they own, rather than on land where public choices apply.

However, having said that, there's the matter of what a land-owner is to do when his fences, crops, livestock and equipment are the targets of preditation and destruction by creatures protected by Federal statutes and policies.  The options of those land owners are continuously shrinking.

Protecting and re-introducing preditation to public land is a legitimate option for the public to choose.  But carrying the process further and forbidding any land owner from protecting his property from large predators, predatory birds, and large ruminants of the seasonal huntable wildlife management varieties is a grave imposition on the rights of land owners.

It's a tough set of options.  Occasionally people who go into wild areas are going to be hurt or killed by large predators.  But wild is wild.  The experience of going into wild areas isn't the same as going into a public park or zoo.  It's not intended to be.

Humans have faced the risks of encountering large predators throughout human history and generally survived with some losses.  They've made the choice that some of that wildness should be preserved.  People who don't want to encounter such risks ought to stay out of wild areas and take their chances in public parks against human, more dangerous and pervasive predators.

As for grazing cows in such places, they are not and should not be the priority unless the land being grazed belongs to the man who owns the livestock, or unless the public choices about land use make a priority of protecting cows instead of large predators.

Jack

Entry #436

No Name Canyon revisited

Afternoon blogsters:

Yesterday I told you a bit about a happening early in the No Name Canyon debacle.  It was a beginning, of sorts.  But myriad other tales of foolishness were to come out of that channel before any sort of conclusion.  The lightning storm experienced just elevated the level of priority for solving the mysteries there.

A while after the lightning/shovel event my old buddy Mel King and I were in that canyon determined to move a lot of dirt some easier way than with a pick and shovel.  I've told you a bit about Mel in an earlier blog entry here:  https://blogs.lotterypost.com/rip_snorter/2005/08/

The bottom of that canyon's already been described as V-bottomed, which is was.  But in the small box where the channel began there was a sedimentation layer I guessed to be 6-8 feet deep, judging from the angle where the walls would intersect underneath the surface.  It was clear that water ceased to move enough of that sedimentation to stratify things a long time before all the current material arrived on the scene.  I'd been getting all the stuff from the earlier visit I described out of the soil about a foot below the surface, which didn't involve hardpan or bedrock.

Mel and I were relatively convinced the bottom of the Vee underneath all that unstratified material would be a glory hole.  Our reasoning was that in the distant past there was enough water movement to create the channel, so it should have dumped the richest material early and taken it as deep as it could go.

Neither of us had an explosives license, dynamite had become a hard-to-get commodity, equipment other than shovels was out of the question, so we made up a mess of home-made black powder.

Mel, his man-sized son Eric, and I trekked in there with every intention of moving some serious dirt and rock.  We dug down at what we calculated to be the best spot, about 3.5 feet and placed a pound of powder into the hole inside a plastic bottle.  We made a fuse by pouring a powder train into a masking tape tube and stuck that down into the powder vessel.

Meanwhile, Eric gathered as many musk melon sized boulders as he could find and we carefully placed them around and above the charge up to about a foot below the surface with the fuse sticking a few inches above the covering material. 

A herd of geniuses at work.

I lit a cigarette and slid the unlighted end about an inch down around the end of the fuse, and we hurried down canyon about 75 yards just around a bend to wait for the big event.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

After about half an hour it was clear we had a problem.  Someone had to go try to see if the cig had gone out, or what.  Naturally, we all went, each trying to say a bit behind the others.

We arrived on the scene, bent down over the fuse and all jumped backward in rolling runs down canyon.  There was smoke coming out of that hole.

We repeated this sequence twice before we decided we'd just come back another day and try to figure out what happened.

Never did get around to trying to explode that canyon bottom again.

Jack

Edited in as an afterthought:

If any of you blogsters ever decide you have to try and pull a stunt of that sort you need to get a magazine for Civil War Reinactor groups and study the ads for cannon fuse.

Jack

 

Entry #435

Black sand, gold and precious metals

Afternoon blogsters:

JAP69 pointed out to me in a comment on the Lightning Strike entry that I didn't explain myself in a way I could expect anyone to understand, which I appreciate.  Sometimes I take too much for granted.

Gold, silver, platinum and several other precious metals are the heaviest elements around.  When the rocks weather away from around them and erosion carries them into channels it drops them at the first opportunity.  It takes a lot of energy (velocity) for the water to carry any particulate, but it takes more, the greater the density of the material being moved.  So the heaviest sediment load drops to the bottom first.

Prospectors rely on this.  It's how placer gold is found.  Nature has spent millions of years concentrating these precious metals, shaking the ligher overburdens with water movement, sinking the heavier particles to the bottom of the sediment layers.

Lighter than the precious metals, but heavier than the silicone sands the water also carries, is the black sand.  It's mainly an iron product. 

So a prospector studies the channel, examines it for places where the water loses energy, particularly during flood stage.  Where there's a curve in the channel there'll be a place just on the downstream side of the curve where the stream drops silt.  That's one of the places a prospector looks for gold.  Similarly, backwaters behind rocks and other obstructions, ancient beaver dams, anywhere the stream flow was interrupted.

The prospector digs into these spots and finds a hardpan or bedrock, or maybe a crack.  He takes the material and places it into a pan, sluicebox, dry washer, and agitates it to stratify the material, just as nature has done to concentrate the metals in this spot.

Gradually the prospector washes away the sand until there's only black sand in the lower rim of his pan, and hopefully a few specks of gold, sometimes a nugget.

What happened to me in No Name Canyon was that there was a LOT of material that was heavier than black sand.  So much of it that the black sand was floating above it in a barely noticeable layer.  Such things don't happen, or happen so rarely that when a person sees them he tends not to consider it a possibility.

There's a thing that happens to gold sometimes.  It's called telluride.  Prospectors have to know about it to recognize it.  Throughout history prospectors who didn't recognize telluride gold because it doesn't look like gold, have thrown it aside with a few curses because it's screwing up their panning.

Jack

Entry #434

Home Grown Tomatoes


Homegrown Tomatoes

 

There's nothin' in the world that I like better than
Bacon, lettuce and home grown tomatoes
Up in the morning and out in the garden
Pick you a ripe one, don't get a hard 'un
Plant 'em in the springtime eat 'em in the summer
All winter without 'em's a culinary bummer
I forget all about the sweatin' and the diggin'
Every time I go out and pick me a big'un


Home grown tomatoes, home grown tomatoes
What'd life be without home grown tomatoes
There's only two things that money can't buy
That's true love and home grown tomatoes

You can go out and eat 'em, that's for sure
But there's nothin' a home grown tomato won't cure
You can put 'em in a salad, put 'em in a stew
You can make your own, very own tomato juice
You can eat 'em with eggs, you can eat 'em with gravy
You can eat 'em with beans, pinto or navy
Put em on the side, put em on the middle
Home grown tomatoes on a hot cake griddle

 

If I could change this life I lead
You could call me Johnny Tomato Seed
I know what this country needs
It's home grown tomatoes in every yard you see
When I die don't bury me
In a box in a cold dark cemetery
Out in the garden would be much better
Where I could be pushin' up home grown tomatoes

Lyrics and recording by Guy Clark

Entry #433

Getting struck by lightning

Morning blogsters:

Someone told me about some poor guy in Waco, Texas, who got himself electrocuted.  Guy was a minister standing in a baptismal about to baptize someone in front of a congregation of 800.  Reached for a microphone and got struck dead.

I commented that it was a bit like being struck by lightning, to which the reply was, "No it wasn't!  You don't get struck by lightning from carelessness and stupidity."

Fact is, that's precisely why people tend to get struck by lightning, along with a bit of lousy luck.  Lightning behavior is a lot more easily predictable than lottery numbers.

I went on to tell the story of something that happened to me along those lines once.

I was working a canyon I'd dubbed "No Name Canyon".  I was finding something completely absorbing and confusing.  Heavy precious metals sink to the bottom of a pan, get covered by the next heaviest, which is magnetite or hematite, black sand. 

 I was in a heavily mineralized area and the bottom of the pan should have been filled with black sand, but I wasn't getting any.  About an inch or more in the bottom of the pan was filled with a grainy material of a reddish brown color that was pervasive and frustrating.  (Sometimes you get to expecting what not to see and find yourself not seeing what's in front of you)

Anyway, I'd worked there alone half the afternoon in that V-bottomed canyon when I heard thunder and saw clouds moving across the sliver of sky visible to me.  I didn't care to get caught in that canyon in a cloudburst, so I hoisted my daypack, shovel, pan and headed up the mountain.

About halfway back up there's a relatively steep, bald face just with a scattering of large pines.  That's where I realized I was a damned fool. 

Suddenly lightning was striking all around me.  I gave it some quick thought and decided my best shot was to sort of lie down on the slope, though lying down doesn't precisely describe what I was doing because of the grade.

So, it began sprinkling some, lighting hitting everywhere, me wondering if I make less of a target this way, when I observed that every tree within my range of seeing had a lightning strike burn on it.  That place has been a magnet for lightning for a long time.

I reached to push the shovel further away from myself in case the metal might make a better target.  As I gazed at the sprinkles hitting the blade of the shovel, where there was still a lot of residue of what I'd been digging below, I suddenly found myself looking at black sand washing out of the small clods glued to the surface.

Hmmm, thinks I.  That is really weird.  I couldn't get any black sand down below, but here it is on the shovel.  Lots of it.

Then it came to me.  The stuff on the bottom of the pan was heavier than the black sand and was floating it.  I'd been looking for the black sand below below the brown grainy material on the assumption that what I was looking at was worthless.

Instead I was looking at something the likes of which I'd never seen before, thanks to being on a mountainside with lightning striking all around me like the fool I have a tendency to be.

Anyway, the storm ended, left me unstruck, but a lot wiser.  I'd never have understood what was happening mineral-wise in that canyon if I hadn't been stupid and careless.  But on that day I managed to also have mama-luck on my side.

Jack

Entry #432

Why's he a treasure hunter?

A map and compass, a shoulder rig, a bag of bugler, a rag hat and some color in the bottom of a pan leads to the kinds of moments people tend to remember.

If you young guys have noticed your lives don't include moments you care to remember you might put some imagination into changing it. 

Give some thought to tossing out the television, Good-Willing that jacket with the football team emblem on the back, and go find yourself something worth remembering

Jack

Entry #431

A voice out of the past

One of the things that makes email worth having in my world is the occasional one such as I got a few minutes ago:

I read your book, and it was cheaper than my original version when you and I went to FOX MOUNTAIN together. I was interested to note that you didn't mention the vast marijuana field we discovered with the PVC pipe watering system. In connection to the murders...I suspect it was by caution, due to the fact that you are publishing to the unwashed masses your address etc. HA

How are you Jack? I went away to Florida and became an attorney but I never will forget your friendship that Fourth of July. I am still looking for money, and will travel in December where only types like you and I go ( sans motor home.) with my metal detector.

My friend writes for treasure hunting magazine and BEGGED me for your Fox Mountain Story, but I lost track of you, and didn't have your permission of course.

Do keep in touch...

Jim
Treasure hunter

Entry #430

Waiting for the Miracle

"Waiting For The Miracle"

Baby, I've been waiting,
I've been waiting night and day.
I didn't see the time,
I waited half my life away.


There were lots of invitations
and I know you sent me some,
but I was waiting
for the miracle, for the miracle to come.
I know you really loved me.
but, you see, my hands were tied.
I know it must have hurt you,
it must have hurt your pride
to have to stand beneath my window
with your bugle and your drum,
and me I'm up there waiting
for the miracle, for the miracle to come.

Ah I don't believe you'd like it,
You wouldn't like it here.
There ain't no entertainment
and the judgements are severe.
The Maestro says it's Mozart
but it sounds like bubble gum
when you're waiting
for the miracle, for the miracle to come.

Waiting for the miracle
There's nothing left to do.
I haven't been this happy
since the end of World War II.

Nothing left to do
when you know that you've been taken.
Nothing left to do
when you're begging for a crumb
Nothing left to do
when you've got to go on waiting
waiting for the miracle to come.

I dreamed about you, baby.
It was just the other night.
Most of you was naked
Ah but some of you was light.
The sands of time were falling
from your fingers and your thumb,
and you were waiting
for the miracle, for the miracle to come

Ah baby, let's get married,
we've been alone too long.
Let's be alone together.
Let's see if we're that strong.
Yeah let's do something crazy,
something absolutely wrong
while we're waiting
for the miracle, for the miracle to come.

Nothing left to do ...

When you've fallen on the highway
and you're lying in the rain,
and they ask you how you're doing
of course you'll say you can't complain --
If you're squeezed for information,
that's when you've got to play it dumb:
You just say you're out there waiting
for the miracle, for the miracle to come.

Lyrics and recording by Leonard Cohen

Entry #429

The Tower of Song

"Tower Of Song"


Well my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on
I'm just paying my rent every day
Oh in the Tower of Song


I said to Hank Williams: how lonely does it get?
Hank Williams hasn't answered yet
But I hear him coughing all night long
A hundred floors above me
In the Tower of Song

I was born like this, I had no choice
I was born with the gift of a golden voice
And twenty-seven angels from the Great Beyond
They tied me to this table right here
In the Tower of Song

So you can stick your little pins in that voodoo doll
I'm very sorry, baby, doesn't look like me at all
I'm standing by the window where the light is strong
Ah they don't let a woman kill you
Not in the Tower of Song

Now you can say that I've grown bitter but of this you may be sure
The rich have got their channels in the bedrooms of the poor
And there's a mighty judgement coming, but I may be wrong
You see, you hear these funny voices
In the Tower of Song

I see you standing on the other side
I don't know how the river got so wide
I loved you baby, way back when
And all the bridges are burning that we might have crossed
But I feel so close to everything that we lost
We'll never have to lose it again

Now I bid you farewell, I don't know when I'll be back
There moving us tomorrow to that tower down the track
But you'll be hearing from me baby, long after I'm gone
I'll be speaking to you sweetly
From a window in the Tower of Song

Yeah my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on
I'm just paying my rent every day
Oh in the Tower of Song

 

Lyrics and recording by Leonard Cohen

Entry #428