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Holstein/Suffolk Cross

7/28/2019

Holsteins are the stupidest 4-legged creatures I have ever dealt with. I have seen a Holstein cow run through a barb wire fence, shredding her udder, when there was an open gate just two feet away. Seriously stupid. Suffolk sheep are the second stupidest 4-legged creatures with which I have had the pleasure of working. This year Miles’ pig seems to be a cross between a Holstein cow and a Suffolk sheep. Not good.

The other day she ran full speed into the woven wire fence. Full out sprint. Into the fence. BOOM! She bounced off and backed up to try again. I have seen cows and sheep run full speed into fences but never a pig. They are supposed to be smarter than that. Also the pig goes crazy unless Cooper’s pig is with it. Again, herd mentality is sheep behavior, not pig behavior. So Miles has a pig that acts like a Holstein and Suffolk. Really, honestly, not good.

She (the pig) is crazy. Miles told me his pig is a runner so I said, “Just let her run. Then, when she has worn herself out, work with her.” I did not understand. She is truly crazy. She runs herself into exhaustion. There is no working with her. She sprints to the gate that leads back to her pen like a pig possessed. Seriously possessed. (....reminds me of a New Testament story….. good thing there are no cliffs close by…..)

Sprinting pigs may have a great value in some places but a county fair show ring is not one of them. The pig must learn to walk and it would be really helpful if she learned to walk where she is directed. Generally speaking, pigs are intelligent animals so, usually, pig training is pretty easy. After just a few sessions they are easily directed with tap on the jowl or the hock. Miles’ pig is not a usual pig.

Early morning hours, before the heat of the day hits, are best for pig training. Miles leaves for work early which left me to work with his pig. In our first session, she ran into the fence. During our second session she ran but not into fences. She achieved a new level of stupidity after our third session. After exercising, she wanted to cool off. Seeing that breakfast was soupy, she tried to roll in it. Twice. I chased her away once but no. She came back. Full on tried to roll in her food. Twice.

For two weeks I worked with that dang pig every morning. Initially she just ran around. Then we got to where she did 4 laps around the pasture, each lap interrupted by multiple rebellious side excursions. Last week we did 8 laps; she did not run away from me once. She knows the routine now. She knows that I will relentlessly, persistently, gently, and doggedly pursue her until she does goes around the pasture. Resigned to her fate, she makes her rounds.

Though she is still totally undirectable and completely willful---she walks around the perimeter of the pasture but will not obey any other directions--I consider the fact that she is walking a victory. I described my victory to Lance and then asked him “Who is more pig-headed, me or the pig?” He refused to answer. I even gave him a hint. “It’s not the pig,” I said. Still he would not answer. He said there was no safe answer to that question…..

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Tradition! Women's and Children's Camp Revived

7/21/2019

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“Tradition!” sings/shouts Tevye in the musical “Fiddler on the Roof”.

(Tevye)
"A fiddler on the roof. Sounds crazy, no? But in our little village of Anatevka,
you might say every one of us is a fiddler on the roof,
trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck. It isn't easy.
You may ask, why do we stay up there if it's so dangerous?
We stay because Anatevka is our home... And how do we keep our balance?
That I can tell you in one word... Tradition."

At times my sister Marjorie and I are very much like a fiddler on the roof, trying to scratch out a simple tune without breaking our necks or wringing the necks of our loved ones. It isn’t easy. And how do we keep our balance?

That I can tell you in just two words: We don’t! We most certainly do not keep our balance (some would say we are very unbalanced….) but we have not yet fallen off the figurative roof nor have we broken any necks. Not ours, not our loved ones.

And it is, in part, our traditions that keep us on the roof, so to speak. Women’s and Children’s Camp is a tradition we honored religiously when our children were younger but one that we have neglected in recent years. This year we revived the Camp and vowed to neglect it not in the years to come.

Women’s and Children’s Camp was instituted early in our marriages when it became obvious that we enjoyed camping more than our men folk. We left them at home where they were happy and we went to the mountains where we were happy. In the Uinta National Forest, west of Heber, we would find an off-the-beaten-path meadow, set up our tents, dig a latrine, create a cooking area, and generally retreat from civilization for a few days. Most years we did not see any other humans from the time we set up camp to the time we broke it down. It was glorious.

Women’s and Children’s morphed over the years. Sometimes we camped in an established campground and once we invited the men. (Mistake ...They introduced too much drama!) Though some things have changed over the years, some things, our traditions, stayed the same. Listed are our camp traditions:

Banana boats cooked on campfire coals
Soccer game, Hislops v Watkins, played until someone got injured
Watermelon, cooled in a creek and eaten from the rind
Watercolor paintings done in a meadow by a stream
Kids and parents sleep in separate tents
Hammocks are a vital component

This year we honored some of our traditions, neglected others, and established a few new ones. Here are this year’s stories.

The plan was to meet Watkins at Duck Creek Campground. Duck Creek is in the mountains east of Cedar City and-- HOLY COW!!!!--the area is STUNNING!!!! Incredible lava flows…large expanses of massive, choppy fields of black basalt boulders ...surrounded by meadows and aspen/fir forests, rimmed by Bryce Canyon-esque red/yellow/orange rock pillars and columns. It is truly, TRULY beautiful country.

Marjorie told me we had reservations at Duck Creek Campground but she did not tell me which site was hers so when we arrived I asked the camp host to direct me to the site reserved for Watkins. She said it was on A loop somewhere. We found the Watkins name on site A28 and moved in.

Wanting to be completely ready to play when the Watkins arrived, we moved in completely. We put up both tents, inflated sleeping pads, and unrolled sleeping bags. We put the cooler in the shade, attached the propane to the camp stove, and set up the camp chairs. Fully moved in, we left camp for a bit to explore our hiking options and do a little fishing at Duck Creek Pond.

When we drove back into the campground, we were honked at and waved down by the camp host. “Are you in A28?” we were asked. Yes…. “The man who reserved A28 is here with his RV trailer. He has backed in and is setting up and you must move out.” Apparently there were two Watkins who reserved sites in the campground, one from CA and one from NV, and it was the CA Watkins who had rights to site A28. Marjorie Watkin’s reservation was for site B37.

The story does not end there. As we were dissembling our mountain home, the camp host again appeared. “Someone has moved into site B37. Would you consider taking one of the sites that is unoccupied?” And that is how we ended up camping in site A9.

While at Duck Creek we hiked to Cascade Falls (a waterfall that travels through a volcanic fissure from Navajo Lake to erupt out of a cliff), explored Mammoth Caves (a lava tube complex), cast for but did not catch fish in Duck Creek Pond and convinced Ella (the toddler) to kiss a snake. We played corn hole instead of soccer, saw seven pre-adolescent antelope, and watercolored in camp. The boys slept in hammocks, we forgot to bring bananas and watermelon, and I slept in the same tent as my mother.

And then Women’s and Children’s was over, adjourned for 2019. Already we are looking forward to 2020’s edition…. Who is bringing the watermelon and bananas?

Hammocks are a tradition

Three generations of cave women

Pre-adolescent antelope

One happy girl

Three happy boys

Casting for (but not catching) fish

Baby snake....

....meets baby human!

Ride 'em cowgirl!

Water colorartists

Chacos work as caving shoes too!

Women's and Children's 2019

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Sawtooths

7/7/2019

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It clear why they are called the Sawtooth Mountains.

Recently two vacation options were presented to me.

One: Carribean cruise featuring:

All you can eat gourmet food
Comfortable beds with clean sheets and fluffy pillows
Warm weather as one sits in a pool, on deck chairs, or at miniature golf course.

Two: Backpacking trip featuring:

A climb up and down the equivalent of 200 flights of stairs carrying all of one’s meals and luggage
Reconstituted freeze dried food
A hard bed in a 4’ x 6’ foot room with a ceiling so low that one’s head hits the roof even when kneeling, accompanied by mosquitoes and ants, next to a snowbank and frozen lake

Hands down and unhesitantly, I chose Option Two. Hislop/Drago Adventures, 2019 edition, was a backpacking trip to and through Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountain range.

The Sawtooth Mountains are amazing. Seriously amazing. And so beautiful. It was very obvious how they got their name. The peaks are jagged and very close together, much like the teeth on the cutting edge of a saw. Massive. Majestic. Magnificent.

The trail to Sawtooth Lake ascends almost 2,000 feet over five miles. We felt the burn in our butts and calves as we sucked air and stomped/slid over snow banks on our way up the mountain. Lance was the first to reach Sawtooth Lake, the first to cast a line in the water, and the first to catch a fish.

Sawtooth Lake was impressive, both in its beauty and its ice pack. When we arrived that evening the lake was mostly ice covered. When we awoke the next morning it was totally ice covered.

Day 2 took us over the ridge that hems in Sawtooth Lake, into a second, higher mountain basin, and onto a second, higher ridge. On the way to the second ridge, we crossed multiple snow packs, including one rather sketchy one where we almost lost Michelle. Eventually we did lose the trail. [Trails buried under 6 feet of snow are much harder to follow than trails that are not buried.]

On the second, higher ridge, we looked west into the drainage that led to Stanley Lake. We could see the trail on the opposite side of the valley but we could not see a way to get there. We paused to consult the map and consider our options. While Lance, Joe, and Michael studied the map and the terrain I retreated back down the east side of the ridge in search of the trail. Assuming I had more insight and intelligence than I actually possessed, the group followed me down. When it became obvious that the trail was not obvious--we could not find it--we called for another option-considering consultation..

We could travel on top of the snowpack that we suspected hid the trail, we could call it quits and retreat to Sawtooth Lake or we could return to the top of ridge and bushwack down the west side, into the valley we knew housed the trail we desired. Snowpacks are dangerous, especially when one is going downhill. I have both read about and experienced horrible outcomes when bushwacking ...falls, broken legs, cliffing out, getting lost, etc. [Bushwhacking is leaving the established trail and whacking one’s way through the bushes.] And returning to Sawtooth Lake would be defeating and demoralizing, not to mention exhausting--we’d come a long way down since topping the ridges surrounding the lake. What to do?

Pray.

We prayed

We all agreed the snowpacks were too dangerous and no one wanted to retreat. Micheal was certain he could lead us down the west side of the ridge to the other trail and Mikayla did NOT want to climb back up to Sawtooth Lake. We re-ascended the (VERY STEEP) ridge. .

And it was the right decision. We made it down without incident and (another tender mercy) found the trail just as it curved south. If we’d have been 50 yards further north we would not have found the trail until we crossed to the other side of the drainage; we would have had to bushwhack much, much more.

Back on the trail and going downhill we made good time; trail hiking is much, much easier than bushwhacking. Shortly after passing Bridal Veil Falls--we were too exhausted to give it much more than a glance--Miles found an ideal camp spot and we crashed for the night. And I mean crashed. Most everyone was in bed by 8:00 p.m.

It rained that night but sunrise brought sunny skies. Slowly and steadily we made our way to Stanley Lake Campground where Joe declared we would not be backpacking anymore and Lance secured for us the last open site in the Stanley Lake Campground.

The hike to the campground was dream-come-true material for me...a wilderness trail winding through alpine meadows dotted with wildflowers, interrupted by fir tree islands and flanked by jagged peaks. Oh beautiful for spacious skies!!!! My legs were heavy but my cup was totally full.

We collapsed for a moment in the campground but only for a moment. The siren sound of fish lured the men to the lake though the men’s lures did not bring the fish to their hooks. Neither did worms or Powerbait.

The fishing was less than stellar but the story that unfolded on the lake’s shore was stunning.

Michael Drago, son of Joe and Michelle Drago, former Marine and current mountain man, invited Mikayla, his high school sweetheart, on our backpacking trip. We all fell in love with Mikayla. Having never done anything like this before, she was probably the least physically prepared for the trip’s rigors. She was also, unquestionably, the trips’ most positive person.

At the water’s edge, Micheal encouraged Mikayla to make a sand castle. When the castle was completed he placed a diamond ring on its top turret and invited the castle’s princess to share his life with him. Just like that Micheal and Mikayla were engaged! Kisses and congratulations followed as did toasts from the bottle of sparkling cider that Joe backpacked up and over the mountains in anticipation of the occasion.

Having decided NOT to backpack anymore, we needed a way to get the cars, which were waiting for us at the Iron Creek trailhead (8 hiking miles or 25 driving minutes away). Enter Ethan the Angel.

While Lance was fishing at the dock (almost a mile away), he was approached by a 17 year old boy who asked him how the fishing was. They became friends and the boy, who we came to know as Ethan from Kuna, ID, followed Lance back to our camp. We chatted around the campfire and, in the course of the conversation, Joe asked Ethan if he had a truck. Having heard about our hiking adventures from Lance (who I am certain did not exaggerate at all….) Ethan was receptive to Joe’s request for a ride; he said he’d ask his stepfather. Later, when he left our camp, he promised to get back to us about the ride options. As we thanked him, he said, “I don’t think this was a coincidence.” Pointing heavenward, he said, “I think He had something to do with it.”

Bless Ethan and his non-coincidence! He returned a few minutes later with his stepfather, who was as gregarious and generous as Ethan. Though it was well after dark and we were complete strangers, the step father drove Micheal and Lance to Iron Creek Trailhead where they retrieved the cars, saving us an 8 mile trek.

The last day of our trip was relaxing and wonderful. The men fished, Michelle cross stitched, Mikayla read, and I hiked to Lady Face Falls. After eating four fresh, foil-wrapped and fire-roasted fish, we found ourselves in cars heading home. We made a nostalgic stop at the Manhattan Cafe in Shoshone, where Michelle hung out as a teenager several decades ago, to eat lunch. Michelle relived memories and we made them. At Joe’s suggestion, we watched the Youtube video “Jog Strap”. I may or may not have screamed several times….

And then it was over….all but the memories. And what great memories they are!

Joe and Michelle are the world’s greatest camping companions. Every ready for adventure and never waiting to criticize, their upbeat attitudes and inclination to laugh are priceless. I am so grateful for the experiences we’ve had together that we’d have never had without them. I am also grateful for Micheal and his map skills and for the chance to be a part of his and Mikayla’s story.

Miles, the self-proclaimed 7th wheel, was trip’s go-to goat. He tested bridges, carried backpacks across rivers, and ferried walking sticks across the marsh. A grateful Michelle promised him a loaf of her homemade bread for his efforts, a promise he treasures as the best part of his trip.

Miles described Lance as “Beast”. In Lance’s words, he (Lance) “carried an extra 180 lbs AND a 40 lb backpack” (overstatement) and still he made it. Though out of his preferred element and in considerable discomfort (understatement), he was in the front on most of the hikes, he kept us laughing with his self-deprecating humor, and, miracle of miracles, he agreed to go on next year’s backpacking trip, providing we get him a backpack that fits. HOORAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As for me, I learned a lot and made some plans. Hiking poles, the Jetboil stove, a Louis L'Amour paperback and a neck gaiter are now must-take camping items. In the future I will pack more than one pair of socks, will bring a topo map, and will have Lance try on his backpack before leaving the house. I remembered, as I experienced it, how much I love the whole-body aching, bone-sore and butt-tired feeling that one earns when one pushes one’s self out of one’s physical comfort zone. I will court that feeling. I plan to nourish the Drago friendship hoping they will continue to adventure with us. And I learned, as I do on every trip to the wilderness, that I Love The Mountains!!!!
Houaida
I love the mountains.
I love the rolling hills.
I love the flowers.
I love the daffodils.
I love the fireside.
When all the lights are low.
Boom dee ah dah. Boom dee ah dah.
Boom dee ah dah. Boom dee ah dah.
Boom dee ah dah. Boom dee ah dah.
Boom dee ah dah. Boom dee ah dah.
I love the ocean
I love the open sea
I love the forest
I love the bumblebees
I love the stars above
When night turns into day
Boom-dee-a-da, boom-dee-a-da, boom-dee-a-da, boom-dee
Boom-dee-a-da, boom-dee-a-da, boom-dee-a-da, boom
I love the sunshine
I love the butterflies
I love the windblow
I love the river flow
I love the shadows cast
When the moon is high
Boom-dee-a-da, boom-dee-a-da, boom-dee-a-da, boom
Boom-dee-a-da, boom-dee-a-da, boom-dee-a-da, boom

Most of us are happy to be here!

This is the closest I have ever been to a canine fox.

Miles in the Sawtooths

Better caterpillars than mosquitoes!

Our first stream crossing

Snowfields can be tricky.

Sawtooth Lake, side view

We did not realize that ice fishing was on the agenda...

Our "hotel" accommodations included a natural cooling system.

Lance catches the first fish

One casts much better when one's tongue is out.

Sawtooth Lake at sunrise.....

...looks like fire.....

...and ice!

Sawtooth Lake, top view. Look at that classic glacier-carved valley in the upper middle of the photo.

Yep, I was there!

Michael scouts out a path down into the drainage.

Bushwhacking down the ridge

Victory!

Miles, the goat, carries Michelle's backpack across the river

Hiking sticks are a must!

Mikayla is game!

Lance and Joe leading the pack

The castle

The bottle of bubbly that traveled up and over the mountain

The prince and princess

McGowan Peak

Manhattan Cafe

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God Bless America!

7/1/2019

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Photo courtesy of https://www.flickr.com/photos/54637956@N02/5061049945

'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Star Spangled Banner, Francis Scott Key

Photo courtesy of https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Purple_Mountain_Majesty_(10802496695).jpg.

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Holstein/Suffolk Cross

Tradition! Women's and Children's Camp Revived

Sawtooths

God Bless America!

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