Things that go bump under my car.

I ran over a raccoon.

No, really. That's not some metaphor about life. I ran over a stupid raccoon. Obviously stupid because it chose to exercise some sort of kamikaze tendency and hurl itself in front of my speedy sedan on a dark highway. Unavoidable. CLUNK! CLUNK! Over in a split second.

Not to be indelicate here, but I've driven a lot of miles in my life and in all those miles I've creamed a few cats, at least one skunk, a squirrel or two, some birds, and unfortunately a couple of dogs. Honestly, the dogs were the only ones I felt very bad about. The only regret about the skunk was that it whizzed a big stench on my car just prior to meeting its Waterloo. I figure I won because the stench eventually wore off, but the skunk stayed dead.

Back to the raccoon. Those suckers are big. Bigger than one might imagine. It made enough noise that you would have thought I was going over a Shetland pony or maybe even a Clydesdale. I dunno. At any rate, it was unfortunate, but by the time I got home I had about forgotten the incident. That is until I got out of the car and saw the damage to the grill and bumper of my car. Stupid raccoon. If I had known about the damage I would have backed up and hit it again.

Geez, I hope I never hit a deer or an elk or a moose or a cow or a horse. I'll bet they really go bump.

People not like the rest of us...

I sat through an all-day meeting yesterday. Lots of usual meeting stuff: charts, graphs, PowerPoint presentations, muffins, apple juice, etc.

One of the participants in the meeting was a guy we will call William (also happens to be his real name). William is a big 47 year old guy, who probably lifts a lot of weights. Maybe 6'4" and 274 pounds. I know he weighs 274 pounds because he told me. William's favorite topic of discussion is William.

At the beginning of the meeting William, with a very small amount of coaxing from another meeting participant, was persuaded to show pictures of himself and his wife on a recent trip to Las Vegas. No big deal, right? Lots of people go to Vegas and lots of people have their photos taken while they are there. This is where William separates himself from the herd.

The pictures were of William and his wife walking down Fremont Street in Las Vegas. William was dressed as Hulk Hogan. Yep, Hulk Hogan. The wrestler. Wearing a speedo, a fake white moustache, a white wig, and sunglasses. His wife was wearing a bikini. People were taking pictures of them.

On a cruise ship a year ago two passengers showed up at Karaoke night dressed as Jake and Elwood (John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd in the movie The Blues Brothers). Sunglasses, black hats, black jackets, etc. Kind of odd, since most participants don't wear a costume, they just get up mangle a song, and sit down. The next day we saw them in the buffet line...still dressed as Jake and Elwood. Saw them a couple of days later...still dressed as Jake and Elwood.

People not like the rest of us...

global warming...finally

Well, either my thermometer is on the fritz or...global warming finally arrived. If it's global warming, it's not a moment too soon 'cuz it's been dang cold around here this week.

Right to Bear Arms...

Here's a photo to make those bleeding-heart, kinder, gentler, politically correct, egg sucking, spineless, gutless, clueless, brainless, doe-eyed, socialist, misguided, hypocritical, feel-good, welfare receiving, Acorn loving, Oprah watching liberals cringe. It's me teaching my grandson at an early age about the constitution - in particular the right to bear arms.

They can sit around in their Birkenstocks, sipping their double caffelattes, discussing global warming and polar bear habitat. That's their choice. Whatever makes them feel all warm and tingly. But they better stay out of my way. I don't need any of their namby-pamby ideology.

We're armed. We could be dangerous. Don't mess with us. We're from the old America...the one that had bared teeth, a powerful bark, an occasional bite and was ready to take on the whole world. Not the new America that only knows one trick: roll over and play dead.

Grrrrrr!!!

The Arrow Tree

A long, long time ago when my brothers and I were much younger we used to anxiously await the annual deer hunt. It was a big deal. Dad and Grandpa would assemble a ragtag collection of borrowed horses, ramshackle equipment, enough weapons to outfit a small army, and enough food to feed a large army. We would spend the better part of a week riding through some of the finest wild country in the state. On rare occasion a deer would be killed, but mostly we were there to ride horses and enjoy each other's company.


One of the highlights of our rides was the "arrow tree". The arrow tree was a charred remnant of a tree either burned by lightning or a long ago fire. High up on the tree was a hunting arrow that one of my brothers found, and placed there by standing on the back of his horse. It became part of the annual trip to look for the arrow tree, and each year the tree was there with the arrow still sticking out of the trunk.

As time moved on and life moved in, the annual trip became infrequent, then ceased altogether. But, we always wondered if the arrow tree and the arrow were still there. Thursday my brother and I were able to answer that question. After a many-year hiatus we rode back in to look for the arrow tree. It seemed like a long shot (no pun intended). After all, we were looking for one tree in tens of thousands of acres of trees. Our memories of the location were dim, but as it turned out pinpoint accurate.

We were about 95% certain we were looking at the right tree as soon as we saw it. We got off the horses, and walked around the tree several times but couldn't see an arrow. Of course it was unlikely an arrow would still be stuck high up in the trunk of the tree after all these years...but we hoped. We were ready to ride on when my brother took one last look around the base of the tree and spotted the broken arrow lying in the brush at the base of the tree.

We took some pictures holding the broken arrow then carefully placed the arrow back in the brush at the base of the tree. Maybe someday we will be able to ride in there with our kids or our grandkids and show them the broken arrow at the base of the "arrow tree".

Middle Teton cllimb 09/19/09

On Saturday, 09/19/09 two of us left Idaho Falls around 3:30am headed to Jackson, Wyoming. Our objective: climb the 12,804 ft. Middle Teton. This particular trip had its roots in a previous climb of 12,655 ft. Mt. Borah two years ago. Neither of these climbs is a cake walk, though neither of them is technical either, meaning climbing equipment and ropes aren't necessary. Of the two I would rate the Middle Teton as the more difficult of the two, and consequently more rewarding.



The Middle Teton flanked by the South Teton and the Grand Teton.

We encountered several groups of climbers either on their way up the Middle Teton or on their way down the Middle Teton. I would estimate the average age of the climbers we met to be early twenties. There we were, me (solidly past the half century mark) and my 70 year old dad, Bill. That's right...70 year old dad. By no means were we the fasted climbers on the mountain, but we may have been the most determined climbers on the mountain.

We took our time paying particular attention to hydration. Due to some sort of genetic anomaly we are both prone to big, bad thigh cramps. Or maybe it has nothing to do with genetics, maybe it is just from forcing our legs to propel us up more than a mile of vertical elevation gain. Doesn't matter, either way a thigh cramp really sucks. Hydration seems to help a little bit.





Summit of the Middle Teton, with the Grand Teton in the background.


After a long steep push we topped out on the summit at 2:30pm. The air was warm and calm and it was very pleasant to sit atop that big mountain and eat some lunch and enjoy the spectacular view of the valley far below and neighboring Grand Teton. However, in spite of the pleasant conditions distant clouds were getting darker and the faraway sound of thunder could be heard. Summit reality soon set in. That is the realization that when you are on the summit you are exactly halfway.


On spent legs and spent enthusiasm we made the long trek back down the mountain picking our way over ledges and through endless piles of boulders. At 8:00 pm we clicked on headlamp and flashlight to finish the trip down to the parking lot. As we approached the parking lot the resident elk bulls were just starting a chorus of bugling and bellowing to announce another night of sparring over breeding rights.


Finally back to the parking lot at 9:30pm. Whew...long day. I think we left it all on the mountain. Not much left by the time we got back to the pickup. Hat's off to my 70 year old climbing partner. That is an amazing accomplishment.

Eastern Idaho State Fair

It's that time of year. Time for all the Bubba's for miles around to sniff the breeze and suddenly have a hankering for tiger ears and funnel cakes. Yup, it time for the Eastern Idaho State Fair. That magical time of year when sleepy little Blackfoot Idaho becomes the redneck epicenter of the universe.

It's everything a state fair should be:

Draft horses and chickens.
Weathered farmers and emo girls.
Mullets and skinheads.
Cowboy hats and wife beater t-shirts.
Indian tacos and Indian relay races.
Hucksters and missionaries.
Water softeners for sale and violins for sale.
Demolition derby and rock concert.
Tattoos and piercings.
Carnival rides and caramel corn.

The question one has to wonder is what do these mobs of freestyle and freakish people do the other fifty-one weeks of the year. Do they have jobs? Maybe they are fair groupies who just follow the fair circuit.

Going to the fair somehow validates our own lives. It is perfectly acceptable to have thought like these:

'Wow, I'm not as fat as that guy.'
'I'm glad my kids don't look like those kids...pity their parents.'
'Honestly, who would wear clothes like that in private, let alone in public?'

As we were leaving at the end of the day a group of teenagers - two boys and two girls was just coming onto the fairgrounds. One of the boys (at least I assume it was one of the boys) belched. How absolutely appropriate.

We'll be back next year.

Magic in the air

There is something endlessly fascinating about watching a crop duster at work. It is one of the happy sounds of summer to hear the powerful drone of these planes working back and forth across a field. Swooping in at a steep angle to avoid trees and power lines then flaring back up at the last minute to avoid the same obstacles, all the while staying on course and remembering to turn on and turn off the sprayer at the appropriate time.

Many years ago there used to be a crazy old crop duster who worked the farms neighboring the one on which I worked. He would land on the road, then taxi into the corner of a hayfield where he would load up the plane for the next run. Over time we embellished his reputation for him. We had him flying under power lines instead of over them and getting so close to potato plants that the plants touched the wheels on his plane. He was crazy and those things may have been true, I can't remember for sure.

I know I still like to stop what I am doing and watch a crop duster at work.

Is this the best way to word this headline?

There will be sandwiches too, right?

Sorry, I can only pick one of you.

One of my managers is quitting, so I've spent the past week and a half interviewing applicants to fill the position. Amazing the cross section of humanity that I've had a chance to interview. Here is a sampling of the people I've visited with:

• There was the guy who had been a Las Vegas card dealer and a professional poker player and (I saved the best for last) a volunteer teacher's aide for a year in Washington State. This cat showed up dressed completely in black: black pants, black shirt, black blazer, and black sunglasses. He informed me at the start of the interview that he was 40 years old, retired, didn't need the money and was only here because the job would look good on his resume. He caved in and took the sunglasses off half way through the interview. Didn't hire him.
• There was the church lady. It was all over her resume, in fact she listed her pastor as a reference. Within twenty seconds of meeting her, she had put her hand on my shoulder. Then she wink/smiled several times throughout the course of the interview. ICK! Didn't hire her.
• Then there was the sniper. I'm not kidding. A sniper. You know, the kind that is trained to shoot people. According to his resume, he was the third highest rated sniper to ever go through sniper training and also according to him his name is still on a plaque on the wall at sniper school. I never got a chance to interview him as he broke our appointment. There are times when having a sniper on the staff might be handy, well...on second thought, maybe not such a good idea.
• There was the lady who called me on the phone to talk about sending her resume and in a three minute conversation addressed me as 'Hon" at least five or six times. Ick again. I never met her face-to-face, but in my mind I pictured an old waitress who has spent her whole life trying to milk tips out of customers by acting friendly.
• Two different applicants informed me they didn't need the money. Great! Nothing would help our bottom line more than employees who would work for free.
• There was also the lady who told me she didn't believe in resumes. Uh...okay. Is this a religious thing or some other sort of personal belief? Didn't hire her.
• There was the guy who, when I returned his call I got blasted in the ear with some sort of rap music crap ringback tone. Didn't hire him.

Luckily there were just as many good candidates from which to choose. After several days of deliberating I hired the person I thought was best...but it's a gamble. How do you ever really know for sure? I may wish I had hired the sniper or the poker player or the church lady.