ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!

An atrocity

Okay, enough is enough!

There are plenty of things political, social, even philosophical, that we can legitimately disagree on.  Immigration policy.  Taxes.  Tariffs..  Disarmament.  Even the usefulness of a stupid border wall.  But there can be no disagreement where wanton cruelty is concerned.  It is wrong, always, even if perpetrated with the best of intentions.  Wanton cruelty directed against innocent children is even worse; it is an unimaginable, unforgivable sin.  As a great grandfather, the thought of deliberate cruelty directed against toddlers fills me with  boiling anger (can you tell?) and disgust.

The Trump administration’s policy of separating  children from their parents is immoral, provokes contempt for America around the world – and, ultimately, will prove ineffective.  America's status as a just, humanitarian society will be in tatters because of it,  for decades. .... (I have sat here for ten minutes trying to think of a rousing climactic-sentence for this paragraph that is neither libelous nor profane.  I can't.  Supply your own.).  

I searched Dante’ Inferno this morning to find the proper Circle of Hell for Donald Trump.  I couldn’t find one.  So, how about I propose a Tenth Circle, to be the final “resting” place of persons  given over to pointless, wanton  cruelty, compounded by groundless egotism, and seasoned with a dash of stupidity?  If you belong there even the Pope couldn’t  get you off.  Not that he’d want to.

POST GUNDELBERG MOUNTAIN ADVENTURES, 2

Catching Dinner

The miracle of the vanishing cave.

Have I effectively alerted you,  politely, to the fact that my early Wind River hiking companion, Bob/JG was – how can I say this? – strongly opposed to spending money.  In fact, let’s face it, he was a tightwad.  In those days (1970s, 1980s) quality, REI-type tents tended to be massive, heavy affairs, mainly suitable for car camping; not something one would choose to lug over 50 miles of trail.  So, if you planned to stay out one or more nights you: (1) bit the bullet and lugged a big tent; (2) carried a tarp and strung it up so as to shed rain; (3) carried a hatchet, cut dozens of small bushes, and made a lean-to; (4) trusted to a benevolent Providence and went without any shelter at all; (5) relied on being able to find a cave.  

Well, all but (1) begged the question of what to do about buzzing insects, and several ignored the fact that at high Wind River elevations there may be no bushes to cut, nor trees to use to anchor a tarp.  And it rained, not all the time, but frequently.  And hard.

And who in heck knew where to find caves?

So, anyway, one year we carried a big, awkward tent.  We stayed dry, but we didn’t get very far, and had very little fun.

Well, Keller researched solutions to the shelter problem all that next year.  He found specialty, hand crafted light tents – but they all cost way too much.  Finally, he discovered somebody selling tiny, light, one piece plastic tents – for something like $19.95.  Just the thing.  So, next summer we toted one along. 

Well, we got to Middle Fork Lake, set it up and, while Bob contemplated dinner, I went fishing.  That night we ate a nice dinner, spread out our sleeping gear, and crawled into our cozy little red plastic prison.

And it rained hard, all night.  The next morning everything we owned was soaked through, and we were on the edge of hypothermia!  The damned tent leaked like it was made of 1 in. chicken wire!

We were up that well known creek.  Although the sun quickly warmed and dried things, we were faced with either running like hell for the trailhead (maybe 25 miles), or finding a cave.  So, we attempted the latter.

Well, after a long search, we found one.  It was a miserable little slot in the rocks, barely wide enough for two humans’ side-by-side.  Moreover, it sloped downwards towards the entrance, thus assuring that you would gradually slide out during the night.  But that was all Providence provided, so that was where we camped, for seven days.  (During the day we would explore out in all directions, but we returned to that miserable cave every night.)

And, you know what?  It never rained again!

Well, we learned quite a lot from that experience.  The next year we had a much better tent.  And, of course, we carried more rum.

The funny thing is, I went back to Middle Fork Lake several times, with Thor Hansen, and I searched for hours for that cave.  It simply wasn’t there.

So, I know it was there once.  Did Providence place it there out of mercy, and then retract it when its job was done?  Seems unlikely – but the ways of Providence are indeed mysterious!.

POST GUNDELBERG MOUNTAIN ADVENTURES, 1

Middle Fork Lake, where we often camped

After the Gundelberg phase of my life I continued to backpack and scramble easy peaks for another several decades.  Much of that was done in the Wind River Range of Wyoming, first with JG/Bob, and later with Thor Hansen.  Today (6/10/18) I began to survey and sort my ancient mountaineering literature; this promises to be a slow process, not least because everything I find I read and reminisce over.  Well, I just found a ratty little guidebook from the Winds.  In it was a note to myself, dated 1988.  It was a list of stuff not to bother to bring on the next trip - mostly clothing, soap, toothpaste - stuff like that.  At the bottom of the list I had written, in heavy lettering: BRING MORE RUM!

Even in 1988 I had my priorities straight.

MY COUSIN CHARLENE

The (very) extended Bebee-Stalcup tribe

That's Charlene in the front row, center

Her sister Lynda Berendson is in her left

My sister Susannah Johnson is on her right

Being old sucks.  In addition to everything else, being old entails watching your contemporaries die.  One of my contemporaries, a particularly important one to me, just died, and it would make me feel better to write a few words about her.

Her name was Charlene (Bebee) Stalcup.  She was my cousin, who lived across the street from me all the years I was growing up.  She was two years my junior.  Charlene was bright, happy, talented, and beautiful.  She had dozens of friends – some of whom I dated in high school, and one of whom I married.  I used to torment her unmercifully – and she would pay me back, in spades.  I owe her lots, not least (with my other girl cousin, Ginger) instrumenting my election as King of the Senior Prom!

Charlene married Ed Stalcup after they met at Redlands University.  Ed was big, handsome, self-confident – a talented athlete.  He could throw a football an unbelievable distance, and he played golf like a pro.

Together Charlene and Ed brought five admirable children into this world.  Curiously, all five were given names beginning with the letter “K”.  (Charlene once remarked that if there had been a sixth one his/her name would have been “Kaboose”).  The Stalcups spent most of their lives in Big Bear, California, where Ed taught English, football, and skiing.  Charlene, in addition to taking care of a large family, established and operated a pre-school for many decades; she is well known and greatly admired for her efforts throughout the community.

Ed died a few years ago, and Charlene had been in poor health for some time.  Nevertheless, she continued to be active in her pre-school until just recently.  She is survived by a huge family (see photo) and a community that grieves at her passing.  She was 83.

Charlene, I’m sorry I punched you so hard with my new pillow boxing glove, all those years ago.  But, of course, then I had to run for my life!

THE PLASTICS PROBLEM

Our friends

Yin and yang.  For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.  No good deed goes unpunished.  You can’t win for losing.

Folk sayings and philosophies have forever warned that what may appear to be unalloyed good inevitably conceals at least a little evil.  The blooming rose shelters the stinging insect.  Gun control fosters unemployment in the munitions industry.  And so it goes.

Enough of this crap.  The Economist presents an article it might amuse you to read:

https://www.economist.com/science-and-technology/2018/05/26/another-way-to-recycle-plastic

One of the major fast-encroaching problems of modern life is the proliferation of plastic waste.  Huge swatches of open ocean are littered with floating plastic garbage.  On personal observation, there are beaches in untouristed northern Greek islands so thick with plastic litter that you must resort to kicking the stuff aside to create space to spread your towel.  The desert sands between the pyramids are mantled by several centimeters of crushed plastic water bottles. 

And so it goes.  If we don’t act soon we will find ourselves smothering in the stuff.  Well, out of Stanford comes a glimmering of hope.

It turns out that the gut bacteria of the mealworm – the larval stage of an ugly black beetle, Tenebrio molitor, probably the stink bug of your youth – have a thing for various plastics.  They eat the stuff, and at a not-inconsiderable rate.  So maybe the solution to the plastics problem is to create huge mounds of unwanted plastic, add tons of stinkbugs, and let nature take its course.  Disgusting, maybe, but still rather neat, don’t you think?

But, inevitable, there is a bee in the blossom.  

Consider metabolism in general.  When creatures eat stuff they convert part of it to growth, energy, etc., but there always is some residual material that must be disposed of.  And what does the mealworm excrete upon digesting plastic?  Why, carbon dioxide, of course.  So, combat the plastic scourge – and contribute to global warming.

You just can’t win for losing.

As an aside, did you know that people actually EAT mealworms?  They are said to be best roasted or pan fried but, and I can hardly believe this, some people actually eat them raw, and alive!