Savage Ramblings

 from choppy to nice 2-3 foot swells.

I’m enjoying the day, the sun and wind, and most of all the sailing. It’s nice to be on the water with just friends as we made a group of five. I made a couple of runs at Louie’s, a local Grill/Bar hang out, but the wind near shore was a bit iffy and I never knew if it would hold. Just try to keep in the gust line, jibe and get back out without slogging.

After an hour or so, I broke off and headed downwind to one of the condo complexes, the Sunset, to see if anyone was sailing there and to just do something different. I was there in six reaches.

I’ve learned that on these solo runs, my mind seems to divorce functions. Part of my brain watches the water ensuring my feet react on the board and my hands react to the sail. All the while, another part of my brain carries on discussions or problem resolutions.

People go to church to worship. I do that also. But some of my best discussions with God are on the water. I speak with him about my love for my children, and how I wish I could be closer. I thank him for the wonderful grandchildren and how I worry about their future. As a parent/grandparent, I want so much for them, but I control so little, the best I can do is pray for their safety and their happiness.

Black bellied whistling ducks take flight as I approach. Cormorants are a bit bolder, but even they eventually seek the freedom and maneuverability of flight over the constraints of the laguna’s waters. Terns overhead dive for small morsels beneath the bay’s surface.

It’s a weekend and numerous people are out on personal water craft. I watch young men make runs at each other or play a game of “hare and hound” across the water. I recognize a black woman on a SeaDoo. I’ve seen her before; braids done up and secured with a bandana. Normally her male companion is nearby and I think I seem him a bit farther downwind. She waves. Maybe it’s my helmet she recognizes.

Normally, I try to avoid the PWCs as their operators don’t keep their eyes open for traffic. On one of my reaches, I spy a PWC headed towards me. Knowing I have the right of way, I just keep my bearing, all the time ensuring I have plan to avoid collision. We’re pretty much “locked on”, but I have room to bear off if need be. All he has to do is veer left and we’ll be clear. But, he doesn’t see me. I know it’s hard as I only have a 14 foot tall mast supporting a big yellow sail, but things happen.

Suddenly, the driver/pilot recognizes that traffic, in the form of moi, is close by. All he has to do is veer left and all is good. That’s too easy. He yanks a hard right and all I see is a ten foot wall of water as I bear off to my right. As the water splashes down, I see the PWC on its side. In the water are Bubba and Bubba’s friend who is wondering what the Hell just happened. Laughter was stifled as I sped on my way.

For over five years, we have had “stuff” in storage. Now, having moved into a house, unpacking that “stuff” is like Christmas everyday. Just because the box says “kitchen” doesn’t mean you won’t find tee shirts inside.

Digging though a box labelled “bedroom closet”, I found a pair of slippers. It’s not just any pair, but a very special pair of deerskin slippers that once was my dad’s. Dad loved to shop at L.L. Bean and you could always find a catalog in our house. When I was growing up, living under my parents roof, I remember having a pair of the slippers. They’re ankle high, fleece lined, hard soled deerskin with a zipper closing. I had a pair, Mom had a pair and of course, Dad had a pair.

Eventually a growing boy’s feet soon exceed the size of his slippers and so it was that I outgrew mine. In high school, slippers were the least of my concerns. Then I was off to school, soon thereafter, married and expensive slippers were the least of my priorities.

In 1975, my dad passed away. As my siblings and I went through Dad’s things, it was obvious, I was the only one with feet large enough to fit in his shoes. So, I acquired a couple pairs of shoes and the deerskin slippers. They were well worn, but worn with loving care. Dad would treat the deerskin with leather preservative. The fleece insoles needed to be replaced and a set of Dr. Scholls remedied that problem.

For the next 35 years, the slippers lived in my closet, coming out occasionally on a cold winter morning. They followed me though several moves and into a second marriage. When we sold our house over five years ago, the slippers were packed away as we rushed to get everything in storage. I don’t know that I missed them, but I do know that in having several pairs of slippers in the motorhome, none truly warded off the effects of a cold floor on a frosty morning.

We’ve circumnavigated West Mountain and are headed back towards East for a different way back to camp. We’ll head back up the way we came down, but then we’ll move higher and north along the west arm of East before working our way down into Mescalero Canyon. We’ll descend along a slab of rock some of which is steep, but manageable. Just be careful.

On the way up, we pass by a climbing site know as “Moonshine Roof”. Then we’ll pass back by the “window”, swing by “Three Days Dead” before reaching our slab on the other side of “Maiden Gully”.

This is “moonshine roof”. The object is to start underneath, hang on the ceiling like Spiderman and work your way to the opening. Once there, you climb over the edge and up the rock surface. Look for the chalk marks both below and above the edge. 

Continuing our walk, we’re as high up the west arm of East as we need to be. Take a second to enjoy the view and to survey our descent. In the distance is Cerro Alto. Straight across (to the right of center) is the head wall of the east arm of East. It rises above Mescalero Canyon, the box canyon I described earlier. The descent looks difficult, but trust me, it gets better.

That’s our way down. To the right is “maiden gully”, don’t move to close or you might wind up in the maiden’s arms. We’ll start towards that little hueco, ahead. Then down the slab on the left of the hueco. (A quick side note: when I did this walk, I was stopped. beside that hueco to take a picture. Reaching for my phone, I dropped it. The phone slid into the crevice between the two slabs. I listened to it go clunk, clunk, clunk down the rocks. Knowing it was gone, I got out my flashlight for a look-see. Fifteen feet down into the crevice it stopped in a spot just wide enough for me to get to. In I went. Success never felt so sweet as having that phone in my grasp as I shimmied my way back out of the crevice.) So, let’s get down out of here. Just like before, trust the rock and watch your step. Before you know it, we’ll be at the bottom, by that tree.

Once we’re down, we’ll walk out through the canyon and back to the campground. I had a wonderful walk and I hope you did also. Before we go, here is one more panorama to enjoy. I took it up by the window we stopped at earlier. To the left is West, ahead is North and of course, we’re standing on East. 

Here is a GPS track of our walk today, about 5.3 miles with an altitude gain/loss of approximately 400ft. 

So now we’re off to the Maze. Don’t look for corn because there isn’t any. This rock formation is part of an extension of East Mountain called East Spur. East and Spur are separated by Tabloid Pass. Maze refers more to the nature of the various zones and climbing problems then to a labyrinth of trails. Here we are at the entrance. 

Our passage way will be to straight back and then to the right. Problems are on both sides of the trail.

Squeeze between the rocks and we emerge on the other side. Now were off to West Mountain and some pictographs. 

Let’s go for a walk. It’s a beautiful morning and my time at Hueco Tanks is waning (Hueco, pronounced as if it were Waco, home of Baylor University).   I’ve got my camera for some photos. So come along with me and we’ll climb some rocks, explore some caves and maybe, just maybe, see some pictographs. But before we start, I need to report to headquarters that we’re on a foot patrol of East and West Mountains.

It all starts with a story. Once upon a time there was a family of Huecos; 

daddy hueco, 

mommy Hueco 

and little baby Hueco. 

While hueco is Spanish for a shallow depression, none of the Hueco family are depressed. On the contrary, they are all happy because they’re holding water, despite the lack of rain for more then a week.  The water in the huecos provided a source of nourishment for bird and beast. During warmer months, small fairy shrimp will hatch from eggs left in the sand/stone bottoms of the huecos as they dry. New rain brings the hatchlings, who will commence a life cycle of laying eggs and dying when the waters evaporate away. So the Hueco family was quite happy despite the cold of the morning creating an icy film on the puddles they held. The rising sun would soon melt it away. 

A steep ascent up the eastern side of East Mountain is the start of our walk. It’s all rock. There is no trail, I’ve just found a way to the top during previous stays. Most of the time, we’re able to stand and walk, but there are a couple of spots requiring our hands to be in contact with the rock as we continue our scramble to the top.  This is not a climb for those fearful of falling, ledges or heights.

Reaching the top, we’re both a bit winded. Taking a second to catch our breath, we scan the panorama. To the east lies the Hueco Mountains (what the park identifies as mountains are really just big piles of rocks rising about 400 feet above the basin. Cerro Alto, the highest of the Hueco Mountains, rises another 2000+ feet above us.

We follow the ridge line south till we come to the saddle where we begin out descent. While our ascent was basically a climb up one large slab of rock, the way down requires a bit of “rock hopping”. So, look for good places to put your feet. The rocks have lots of good handholds and the patina protecting the rock provides ample grip for out soles.

Our way down and across.

East is unique in its shape. Like a large U, it lies basically on a north-south line. We’ve come up the east side of the east arm. Now we’re headed down the west side of the east arm, then along the bottom of the U where we will take a trail off the mountain. To our right lies Mescalero Canyon. It is a box canyon with a high rock wall and no visible means of exit. It’s not accessible from where we are, but on the way back, we’ll take a different route into the canyon.

As we trek across East we can see a stone and mortar dam. I believe it was constructed by the Escontrias family in the early 1900′s. While it still holds some water, it is not really efficient as a dam. The meadow on the far side of the dam is wet from water seeping under and through the structure. 

I’ve wanted to explore a “window” in the rock. A friend who is a commercial bouldering guide, told me about it. It’s basically a deep hueco on the top of a ridge which has a hole in the side of it. That’s our next destination.

So there’s our window; now to just get to it. 

There’s the way. Watch your step cause it’s a 75-100 foot drop on the left and about 300 feet on the right. Remember what I said, the rock has a lot of grip. 

You like the view from the window? Next, we’re off to an area called the maze. 

It was a miserable night. Rain, hail and winds combined to provide a constant string of sleep interruptions. Dawn was not any better. It didn’t break; it was more of a slow erasure of darkness. Rain continued, varying between drizzle and downpour. It was cold and gusty. Mist and cloud hung on the mountains like a dirty antimacassar on granny’s moth eaten recliner.

Sometimes I’m overly proud and a bit stubborn. It was particularly evident regarding my choice of cell phone. For years, I carried a Motorola military grade flip phone. When others would whip out their “smart” phones I would ask, “Can you drop it from six feet and not have it break? Is is

Ahh, the twists and turns of life forever keep us on our toes as we bounce between our Arabesques and our Cabrioles.

During the past year, we had several discussions between ourselves and with friends regarding our continuance of travel. The last five plus years have been

Traveling around the nation as we do, we’re continually meeting people. We humans are certainly interesting, no two alike. Well, maybe those identical twins, but not the rest of us. Similar at times, but not alike.

To my FB friends. I’ve taken a sabbatical from FB. It began after the election. In the lead up to Nov. 8, I found myself getting increasingly agitated by the constant political posturing on both sides. As most of you know, I’m not an educated man and perhaps that’s better. Reading postings, or more often, reposts of banal or fallacious arguments supporting one candidate or slandering the opposition became too much. I found myself wanting to counter arguments, showing the hypocrisy of many positions, but I had not the time and began to lack the energy. So, I dropped out.

Before departing SPI, we both bought new phones. I upgraded from my trusty flip phone to the new Pixel and had slowly been adapting to the technology, but refused to install FB on it. I was determined to not feel the constant need to check my phone to see pictures of cute dogs and angry cats.

It was easy at first because we were in places like Sonora, TX and Davis Mountains, TX with no reception, no cell, no internet. I found myself easily ignoring my computer. On dashes into towns like Fort Davis and Marfa, where reception existed, I easily ignored technology. Sitting in a bar in Marfa, I enjoyed conversation with my beloved while most around us were busy on their handheld devices (except for the old farts who like me, enjoyed verbal interchanges).

With the election passed, I thought it might be safe to return to FB, but no. It was just as bad, perhaps worse in some ways. So, I’ve continued to ignore the siren’s call. I know that I’ve missed birthdays announcements, pictures of grandkids in their activities, celebrations of import, some humorous posts, etc. If you feel that I ignored you, all I can do is ask your understanding and forgiveness. It wasn’t a personal slight, only a change in my personal approach to life. In someways, I’m sad about that, but for now, my absence will continue until after the inauguration. Perhaps by then, the hardcore partisans will have exhausted their angst and gathered their senses enough to realize there is more to life then ranting about the latest perceived transgression.

Welcome back Geoffie. We missed your dulcet Aussie tones.

Actually, Geoff hadn’t gone anywhere; he was right there 

The asphalt stretched out beyond the reach of the headlights, disappearing into the void of light surrounding us. The moon had set; the sun was yet to rise. Traffic signs and road reflectors were the only other illumination as we continued on.

With the subtleness of a soft fall of snow, the eastern sky begins to shift from ebony to grey. Roadside features are silhouetted. A shallow fog lays across the low fields like a cotton comforter on a feather bed, rumpled and uneven. The sky continues to lighten yet the sun remains below the horizon.

Clouds take shape in images of coral and gray as the sun continues to make its presence known while remaining hidden below earth’s edge. Darkness is chased westward as the eastern sky morphs from gray to light blue. Clouds lose their rosiness, opting for a purer shade of white as the sun presents itself, bringing its radiance into the day.

But now, we were in farm country; no towns, no other roads intersecting, just corn. Miles and miles of corn standing sentinel from the road to the nearby hilltops. Off to the east, the Mississippi flowed steadily southbound as we continued our own way south.

There were no turn outs, no rest stops, no shoulder; just two lanes of asphalt. We drove and drove some more. Occasional driveways led to a farm house or barn sitting 300 or 400 yards off the road. There was no traffic; maybe an tractor moving between fields. We continued on as if some choice had been offered when none had.

Carol began to search the map for a town, but had no reference as to where we were. The Great River Road app was no help. Oh, it did show us where we were, but we weren’t anywhere anything was. We continued on.

Late afternoon we came to an intersection, a four way stop. The sign said the GRR went straight ahead. To the right, we would head toward Palisades, but no distance was given. We went straight. Over a short rise, around a shallow bend we found a campground. It was the Palisades city park. Ten or twelve spots with full hook-ups including the much desired 50 amp electrical service. We quickly pulled in.

It was a self registration facility. Pick a spot, park and pay; cash or check, your choice. We completed the envelope and dropped our $20 in the box. The park was between the road and the river, perhaps all of three acres at the most. A picnic shelter, restrooms for day use and showers for campers. We walked along the river, Carol taking some photographs as the light played on the water. An abandoned railway trestle offered itself as it posed above the current.

There were four of us in the RV sites. After we arrived, no one else stopped. A group of seniors had been picnicking under the shelter, but they were gone by dinner time. We watched a bit of TV after darkness closed in. The road behind us, all of 25 feet away, was quiet as we head off to bed.

I learned several years ago that one of the ways to keep my wife happy was to visit any cathedral in the area. She has roamed into churches and cathedrals throughout the U.S. and Canada as well as in Europe, Great Britain, South America and Asia. Through her, I have learned to appreciate the beauty and splendor of these buildings.

So it was that once we had completed out visit to the Field of Dreams, we ventured to the northwest side of Dyersville to visit the Basilica St. Francis Xavier. When German immigrants arrived in this area they built the first Catholic Church in Dyersville. That was in 1862. By 1869, the congregation had grown so large as to require doubling the size of the church. The current building was completed in 1889 and proclaimed a minor Basilica in 1956 by then Pope Pius XXII. It is one of 53 Basilicas in the U.S.

We were touring on a Saturday and normally the church would be open to the public. However, this Saturday we found a wedding in progress and obviously, we could not enter (despite movies about wedding crashers, we were not appropriately dressed).

Just a quick pic though the space between the doors. Looks like a lovely wedding. 

The churches spires tower 212 feet and the crosses which adorn each are gilded in gold leaf. The crosses themselves stand 14 feet and are 6.5 feet across. This size combined with the closeness of the other buildings made it impossible for Carol to get a good exterior shot, but she did get one shot inside. Then we were off to Dubuque and the National Mississippi River Museum.

If you would like more information on the basilica their website is:http://xavierbasilica.com/history/

The Field of Dreams Movie Set is just what it says it is, a movie set, located outside of Dyersville, IA. It is the actual corn fields, backstop, bleachers and farm house used in the filming and if you go there, it’s free. But it is just the baseball diamond. The farmhouse 

Did you every make one of those plans where you think you’ll just stop for a moment, then be on your way to somewhere else? Ninety minutes later, you realize the schedule is way behind, but it’s all been worthwhile. We had one the other day.

Following the Great River Road in northern MN wasn’t too difficult. We had a map. We had an APP. There were one of a kind road signs to guide the way. However, they weren’t always in agreement, which made some of the travel more exciting. What we didn’t have was competing venues on opposite sides of the river. As we moved south and the river began to share its waters with both MN and WI, we had a choice. We could cross the river into WI or stay in MN, but thee were things to see in each state. This changed our approach to driving the road. Our epiphany came over lunch and a beer in Red Wing, MN.; drive directly to the next camping spot, then loop up one side of the river and back down the other.

A couple of days later, we found ourselves in a strange little campground, Spook Cave and RV Park, just outside of McGregor, IA. Once settled, we planned our next excursion. The first stop would be to an old flour mill, the Motor Mill, just outside Gutenburg. Then, we’d be off to Dyersville to see the Field of Dreams movie set. Both of these should be quick stops for photos leaving us most of the afternoon for the Mississippi River Museum and Aquarium in Dubuque. With most of the day spent touring, we would finished the afternoon at Potosi, Wi to enjoy some great brews and a sandwich at the Potosi Brewery.

Outside of Gutenburg, we turned down a dirt road, crossed an old iron bridge to the Motor Mill. Parking was in a field, just off the dirt road. Our first surprise was the mill was open. Inside, two gentlemen were working away, one sweeping; one organizing. The mill is in a state of disarray; the kind which comes with renovation of century old building. Sawdust covered the floor, plans tacked to easel, an obvious work in progress.

John and Lee introduce themselves and ask about us; where are we from, what brought us here. They were expecting a group from Cedar Rapids at 10:30 and thought perhaps we were part of the tour. As 10:30 drew closer with no arrival of the group, Lee started us on a tour. We didn’t really want a tour, but what the heck.

At the end of an hour, we had been through the abandoned cooperage and all four floors (excluding the basement, which was wet) of the mill. Lee had explained about the cooperage and its two doors; one on the ground floor and one above it on the second floor. There is no flight of steps from the ground floor to the second floor. Additionally, the second floor is supported by 2/12 joists on 12 inch centers. There was some evidence of a ramp to the second floor. The presumption is the cooper made barrels on the first floor. The barrels were then moved to the mill, where they would be filled with flour, then returned to the cooperage and stored on the second floor, safe from flood waters.

Above: the cooperage. Note the two doors, one at ground level and one above. There is evidence of a ramp to the second floor level as there are no steps between the two floors. Below: Here is where the cooper would make barrels out of white pine staves bound with metal bands. The windows were recently bricked in to prevent damage by falling rocks. 

Prior to the Mill Foundation acquiring the building, it had been part of a large farm for over 80 years. Consequently, much of the mill’s interior had been scavenged for wood. Floor planks of oak and walnut had been removed. The metal drive shafts for the mill stones disappeared, as had the mill stones themselves. Lee explained that with the help of a local lumber company, the missing planks had been replaced along with any of the flooring deemed unsafe. The steps between the floors had been reworked to ensure safe access between the floors. John had made the handrails out of basswood, a light, strong and smooth wood.

A turbine which would have been mounted vertically in the mill race. The drive shaft would turn the grinding wheels. 

On the floor in the foreground is a bottom stone or wheel for grinding wheat. The post behind it is used to lift the top stone off the driveshaft for cleaning. The tool resting on the stone would be used to clean and reface the grinding stones. 

Fragment of a top stone. The stones were imported from France. For easier shipping, the stones would be made in sections, like a jigsaw puzzle, and shipped individually. After arriving at the mill, the stones would be reassembled and bound with a metal strap. 

Looking the opposite direction, you can see two more grinding stations. 

One of the most interesting aspects of the restoration has to be the roof. When the Foundation began work on the building, they found the peak of the roof had pulled apart, about eight inches, exposing the upper floors to rain. At first the workers were unsure of what had caused this problem. It seems that when the originators of the mill had proposed building it, one of the selling points was everything needed for the construction could be found within a ten mile radius. The outer walls are limestone, quarried from a ridge just above the river. The wood needed was harvested from the forest along the river. Consequently, the post and beam construction of the mill was completed with green wood. As the the dried, it shrank and settled, pulling the roof apart at the peak. To fix the rook, the volunteers used jacks to lift the beams, then drove shims into the newly created gaps between the posts and the beams. Raising beams one floor at a time, they were able to close the gap, then rework the roof beams to better secure the construction.

This is a screen used to sift out the finest flour. It would be driven by a belt attached to the drive wheel. The coarser flour would be re-ground or packaged for sale at a lower price. Note the post and beam construction.

As 11:30 approached and Lee was wrapping up our tour, cars began to arrive. This was the 10:30 tour arriving on time, just an hour late. It seems there was some confusion in the meeting time. Regardless, we were the beneficiaries of the mistake. Now it was off to the Field of Dreams, leaving behind two volunteers working on their own version of the dream, reviving a bit of Americana for future generations.

If you’re part of my generation, many of your early years were during the Cold War. You might remember school drills where you assumed a fetal position under your desk. This was to offer you protection in the event of a nuclear attack. Don’t worry about those tall windows blowing shards of glass. Forget that if you are near the detonation point, the heat is sufficient to melt concrete. You’ll be safe under that steel framed, oak desk. No harm will come there. In WV, where I grew up, we probably were not a high profile target for those Russian ICBMs. We needed to be ready, just in case.

If you are not part of our generation, or even if you are, there is an interesting little museum just outside of the Badlands National Park. It is part of the Minuteman Missile National Historic Site. There are three aspects to this facility. The headquarters building which contains the Museum of the Cold War; Site D-1 which was a launch control site; and Site D-9 which contains a missile in the silo.

The Cold War Museum documents the growth of nuclear weapons from the end of WWII when the U.S.had only six to the peak when there were in excess of 65,000 weapons world wide. There are magazine articles, instructions on the construction of a bomb shelter, as well as an insight to the on duty lives of the missileers.

To visit site D-1, a launch control facility, you must obtain a ticket from the rangers. Tickets are free, but the half-hour tours are limited to six people. We were first in line at 7AM when the gate opened. The facility doesn’t open until an hour later and by then, the line had about fifty people. Total issuable tickets is 72 and they’re generally gone in first two hours. Being first in line, we had no problem getting ours.

There’s no bus, no van, no ride to site D-1. You drive your own vehicle the four miles to the site and meet the ranger there about 15 minutes prior to the scheduled tour. Our ranger guide had been a missileer at this site for several years and shared much of his personal knowledge.

Topside, it’s just a tan building with a big fence around it and lots of signs about security.   The two-man crews not on duty, eat, sleep, practice the launch drill and study. The real action lies deep below, reachable by elevator or in a pinch, ladder. The seven of us crowded into the tiny elevator for the descent. This capsule would be manned by two personnel for a twenty-four hour period. Their only visitor would be the cook, bringing them meals. One could sleep while the other remained on alert. Access to the nuclear codes was by two keys, each different. The two work stations are separated to ensure both missileers were present and active if a launch was required. Our guide ran through the numerous steps and coordination to confirm and launch. It only takes seconds.

The living quarters just as they were when the facility was active. 

Sleeping quarters not long on privacy

Just in case the elevator fails

This is the capsule prior to being wrapped in two inch rebar and concrete

Launch control. Single bed behind the curtains. Work stations well separated. There is a 10 day supply of food, should it be needed. This was a 24 hour home for the launch specialists. 

Tour completed, we ascend via the elevator (no ladder needed). Our guide has some final remarks and asks if we have any further questions. With that, we were off to site D-9. 

Just one more thought before we go. The security detail at these facilities carried not only automatic weapons, but also grenades. Just inside the security fence toward the corner of the site there was a horseshoe pit for recreation. I bring this up because it is the only example I know of where horseshoes, hang grenades and nuclear weapons were co-located. 

D-9 gives you the opportunity to look down into an actual silo loaded with a Minuteman missile. It is a self guided site with an 800 number. Call the number for a recorded description of each section of the facility. There is still a fence but the gate is open except for a chain across the opening. Visitors are cautioned to keep the chain latched to keep the cattle out.

The tall slender object is a hardened antenna as is the small white object in the back. I’m standing in front of the silo. It has a plexiglass cover for viewing. 

The nose of a minuteman as you gaze down into the silo.