Apparently my sighting on Sunday of the coati in Dos Cabezas Wildnerness caught the attention of several of my local nature-loving friends. I reported to Mike that I saw this strange animal that I thought at first was a mountain lion, but when I described to him that it was basically tan, with a dark, pointed snout, dark lower legs and a really long tail it kept to the ground, he exclaimed "That's a coati!"
I know from attending the Southwest Wings and Nature Festival here last September that the coatis are being monitored in the Huachucas because of their mysterious, dwindling masses. But I didn't think that the Dos Cabezas wilderness was also on the monitoring path. I also know that the Tucson Audubon Society wants people who spot a coati in southern Arizona to report any sightings, preferably with photos, to their website. The coati researcher volunteers for the Audubon society as well.
The Indian morters were also a hit. People wanted the coordinates to the sites. I will not post them here because the site was badly littered to begin with, with spraypainted rocks and beer cans around the stream.
Kevin wants to go back to Indian Bread Rocks PicNic area and explore the hills in greater detail. There's got to be more up in the mountain peaks that show old Indian dwellings. The hike won't be easy with the wet rocks.
I am really getting into my Native Peoples class and will start my fundamental research this weekend. (An interesting side note: The teacher and two of us students are from the Michigan-Indiana-Ohio triangle) My group of choice is the western Apache tribe in the White Mountains. That means I will have to drive up to the White Mountains and Fort Apache soon (poor me!) and talk to a few elders, record their conversations, and quote them verbatim for my ethnographic report. (If it turns out good enough, I'll post the report here)
This also gives me an excuse to travel more into Mexico now that I have a focus. The Southwestern Indians spread as far south as southern Sonora with the Seri tribes.
One of the students today at the high school turned out to be part Navajo, part Arapaho. She came up to me and told me I was the first White person she's met who's interested in learning more about our Native Americans. She told me of the discriminations she's seen toward the Native Americans all across the country, from Alaska where she also lived for a while, to this area and near the reservations.
"People think the Indians have it made with all the entitlements, but we don't!" I lived for a few years on a Rez and it was no fun!" she said, before thanking me for my sincere interest in the real American History that surrounds us here in Arizona.
"Imagine if a Native American were to write our history!" I told her. I know the results wouldn't be all too appreciative, that's for sure. History is always written by the victors, but it's the ones who suffer from defeats, repressions and annihilations who have always fascinated me the most.
The high school uses a history book by McDougal-Littrell called "The Americans," with several photos of famous Americans on the front cover: Eleanor Roosevelt, Martin Luther King, Harry S Truman...but not one photo of a Native American.
http://www.vanishingspecieswildlife.com/animals/details.php/000029/Coatimundi/Nasua/nasua
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Dos Cabezas Wilderness and Willcox
The 11,000 acres of the Dos Cabezas Wilderness is geologically the most northern range of the Chiricahuas. The Two Heads—Dos Cabezas—can be seen from Interstate 10 as you approach the forlorn town of Bowie. Fifty miles east and drivers are in Lordsburg, New Mexico, a misnomer of a town as Lordsburg is neither lordly nor very Burgy. It's a run-down interstate rest stop town. Weather was nice again with sunny skies and temperatures approaching 70F. Had this been summer these mountains would have been hot and dry.
I made a quick stop at the Fort Bowie Bookstore to look for books on the Apaches. Karen the NPS Ranger was very helpful to me and gave me the email of the great-great-grandson of Cochise who allegedly runs a sweatlodge in the White Mountains. “Write to him, he’d be very willing to chat with you about Apache traditions…but be careful as he got kind of weird with me after a while and I stopped writing to him.”
I thanked Karen for her help and then we headed toward the Wilderness off Happy Camp Canyon Road back toward Bowie. This dirt road stretches west and northwest off Apache Pass Road until it comes to a gated fence six miles from the main road. This is all wilderness, with no marked trails except for a few unmarked ATV trails around large rock formations. We were in Open Range country, but I commented that with all the beer cans, this was Open Container Country.
It looked like it would be a solitary hike today, until we saw a large horse trailer parked off the road. And then I saw the inevitable: Horseshit on the trail. And then more footprints. I did not want the dogs anywhere near any horses.
We turned around and parked at the Indian Bread Rocks Picnic Area next to a large bald granite outcropping. We could see water trickling down bald rocks. There had to be a stream nearby, right?
We headed south and hiked cross-country along cattle trails across soft, decomposed granite. The ground felt wet in places. Most of the brush was soft grass.
At .7 mile of easy hiking we came across small waterfalls and watering holes that would be entirely inviting in the summer, if it weren’t for all the discarded beer cans and bottles. Someone even spray-painted graffiti along a rock cliff. Other than the man-made ugliness, this was a pretty spot, with views of the mountains to our northeast, and truck traffic on the interstate visible from our vantage point. This place was obviously a well-known party place for locals.
I made a quick stop at the Fort Bowie Bookstore to look for books on the Apaches. Karen the NPS Ranger was very helpful to me and gave me the email of the great-great-grandson of Cochise who allegedly runs a sweatlodge in the White Mountains. “Write to him, he’d be very willing to chat with you about Apache traditions…but be careful as he got kind of weird with me after a while and I stopped writing to him.”
I thanked Karen for her help and then we headed toward the Wilderness off Happy Camp Canyon Road back toward Bowie. This dirt road stretches west and northwest off Apache Pass Road until it comes to a gated fence six miles from the main road. This is all wilderness, with no marked trails except for a few unmarked ATV trails around large rock formations. We were in Open Range country, but I commented that with all the beer cans, this was Open Container Country.
It looked like it would be a solitary hike today, until we saw a large horse trailer parked off the road. And then I saw the inevitable: Horseshit on the trail. And then more footprints. I did not want the dogs anywhere near any horses.
We turned around and parked at the Indian Bread Rocks Picnic Area next to a large bald granite outcropping. We could see water trickling down bald rocks. There had to be a stream nearby, right?
We headed south and hiked cross-country along cattle trails across soft, decomposed granite. The ground felt wet in places. Most of the brush was soft grass.
At .7 mile of easy hiking we came across small waterfalls and watering holes that would be entirely inviting in the summer, if it weren’t for all the discarded beer cans and bottles. Someone even spray-painted graffiti along a rock cliff. Other than the man-made ugliness, this was a pretty spot, with views of the mountains to our northeast, and truck traffic on the interstate visible from our vantage point. This place was obviously a well-known party place for locals.
"This would be a great spot to watch out for scouts" as I pointed to the northeast. We could see for miles. We were in Apache country. We hopped over old Indian mortars, wondered about some of the pointed rocks (were they used as tools?) and all around us were odd boulders balanced on slanting cliffs. There were balanced rocks all around.
We were at 4200'. The highest peaks were 7900' high and directly to our west.
We wanted to hike further. There were two saddles on either side. Kevin chose the one more to the south whereas I opted for the one more to the west where I figured the water source was coming from. Some of the rocks were slippery but I had little difficulty. What was more difficult was for the dogs to decide whom to follow. They were with me until I hit a rocky ledge, then opted to run down the canyon and up the other canyon to be with Kevin. Now I found myself in what looked precariously like mountain lion habitat: rocky cliffs with a nearby water source. Squirrels and rabbits darted about in all directions and now I was alone.
I kept climbing up over the exposed rock, aiming for the saddle further ahead. As I glanced up I saw a rather large, tan animal walking softly across an exposed ledge My heart sank. Those were the colors of a solitary mountain lion, and here the dogs were nowhere to be found. I didn’t want to yell out for them, and got angry at Kevin for not wanting to hike closer to me. I had no where quickly to go: cliffs to my north, straight rock to my west, and more steep cliffs to my east. If a lion wanted to go after me, she could have me in a split second. And there wouldn’t be anyone or anything to help me.
I grabbed my camera and looked at the animal through my telephoto lens that was oblivious to me. It was not a lion after all: its head was too dark and pointed, and its lower feet were black. The tip of its tail was also dark. What was that? A coati? It seemed to be more interested in getting to its water source, but I opted to not hike any further uphill, despite the beautiful views here of more exposed granite and strange geologic formations. I’d have to come back here another day with a larger group to explore these hills.
I saw Kevin come back down from his canyon. He was not interested in climbing up my canyon. What? He was ready to call it quits?! We probably didn’t even get two miles in, but I didn’t say anything. We were back at the truck by 2:30pm, two hours since we first left, and headed to Willcox. I would have preferred to explore some more in these mountains, but together and not separately. Kevin just doesn’t seem to hike like he used to, and prefers shorter hikes of under four miles. I had told him last night we would hike about six miles in the upper peaks further in the canyon, but the horses turned us away.
Our next stop was Willcox and dinner at Rodney’s, a small shack of a diner in the Historic District just big enough for the kitchen. Rodney is both owner and cook of this one-employee place where customers take their food outside and eat at tables put there by Rodney. Or they can take the food to the Palace Saloon next door or to the theatre on the other side of the diner. I ordered soft tacos, and got a huge plate of hamburger, cheese, lettuce and southern beans and rice.
Montana Bob was sitting outside eating his tacos. He was dressed in black leather chaps, black leather jacket, black bandana and black glasses as he was finishing his meal. "This is the best food in town!" he exclaimed as he rubbed his belly with satisfaction. He is a snowbird from Kalispell, Montana who lives the winter months in his motor home in Sunsites, a small ranching community south of Willcox. I took a liking to this 59-year-old Vietnam Vet. We chatted while Kevin chatted inside the Saloon with a few locals.
We wanted to hike further. There were two saddles on either side. Kevin chose the one more to the south whereas I opted for the one more to the west where I figured the water source was coming from. Some of the rocks were slippery but I had little difficulty. What was more difficult was for the dogs to decide whom to follow. They were with me until I hit a rocky ledge, then opted to run down the canyon and up the other canyon to be with Kevin. Now I found myself in what looked precariously like mountain lion habitat: rocky cliffs with a nearby water source. Squirrels and rabbits darted about in all directions and now I was alone.
I kept climbing up over the exposed rock, aiming for the saddle further ahead. As I glanced up I saw a rather large, tan animal walking softly across an exposed ledge My heart sank. Those were the colors of a solitary mountain lion, and here the dogs were nowhere to be found. I didn’t want to yell out for them, and got angry at Kevin for not wanting to hike closer to me. I had no where quickly to go: cliffs to my north, straight rock to my west, and more steep cliffs to my east. If a lion wanted to go after me, she could have me in a split second. And there wouldn’t be anyone or anything to help me.
I grabbed my camera and looked at the animal through my telephoto lens that was oblivious to me. It was not a lion after all: its head was too dark and pointed, and its lower feet were black. The tip of its tail was also dark. What was that? A coati? It seemed to be more interested in getting to its water source, but I opted to not hike any further uphill, despite the beautiful views here of more exposed granite and strange geologic formations. I’d have to come back here another day with a larger group to explore these hills.
I saw Kevin come back down from his canyon. He was not interested in climbing up my canyon. What? He was ready to call it quits?! We probably didn’t even get two miles in, but I didn’t say anything. We were back at the truck by 2:30pm, two hours since we first left, and headed to Willcox. I would have preferred to explore some more in these mountains, but together and not separately. Kevin just doesn’t seem to hike like he used to, and prefers shorter hikes of under four miles. I had told him last night we would hike about six miles in the upper peaks further in the canyon, but the horses turned us away.
Our next stop was Willcox and dinner at Rodney’s, a small shack of a diner in the Historic District just big enough for the kitchen. Rodney is both owner and cook of this one-employee place where customers take their food outside and eat at tables put there by Rodney. Or they can take the food to the Palace Saloon next door or to the theatre on the other side of the diner. I ordered soft tacos, and got a huge plate of hamburger, cheese, lettuce and southern beans and rice.
Montana Bob was sitting outside eating his tacos. He was dressed in black leather chaps, black leather jacket, black bandana and black glasses as he was finishing his meal. "This is the best food in town!" he exclaimed as he rubbed his belly with satisfaction. He is a snowbird from Kalispell, Montana who lives the winter months in his motor home in Sunsites, a small ranching community south of Willcox. I took a liking to this 59-year-old Vietnam Vet. We chatted while Kevin chatted inside the Saloon with a few locals.
"I would have come down sooner last fall but I got held up at the nothern Colorado border for three days...15 people died there on 1-25 when they got stuck in a blizzard and were driving too fast." I remember hearing about that horrific interstate pile-up.
Bob was 18 in 1968 when he was drafted for the Vietnam War. He was there for the Tet Offensive. And even thought he worked in supply, he had seen his share of killings. “I’m 100% disabled, from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, but it took me 19 years to get my payments,” he told me. "I've been in institutions several times when I was younger." He seems to be holding well these days, traveling all over the Desert in the winter months and heading back to Montana during the summer “Where I can ride all over on my motorcycle,” referring to his Harley as his "motorsickle."
The Southern Pacific railroad train chattered at least three times during our stay in Willcox. The train travels just south of Railroad Avenue on the south side of town. The railroad made Willcox back in the 1850s.
Montana Bob has been coming to winter in Arizona for seven years now. He loves to travel and used to travel south of the Border, but not anymore. “I have me a passport but I don’t go into Mexico no more” he confessed, even though he’s got friends south of the border he hasn’t seen in a while. “I don’t want to get killed by them drug dealers down there!” he added. He enjoys riding his Harley on Arizona's backroads when he's not in his motorhome where his wife normally waits for him.
Bob had to leave --he had been in town long enough--so we shook hands. I hope to meet up with him some day, somewhere.
Bob was 18 in 1968 when he was drafted for the Vietnam War. He was there for the Tet Offensive. And even thought he worked in supply, he had seen his share of killings. “I’m 100% disabled, from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, but it took me 19 years to get my payments,” he told me. "I've been in institutions several times when I was younger." He seems to be holding well these days, traveling all over the Desert in the winter months and heading back to Montana during the summer “Where I can ride all over on my motorcycle,” referring to his Harley as his "motorsickle."
The Southern Pacific railroad train chattered at least three times during our stay in Willcox. The train travels just south of Railroad Avenue on the south side of town. The railroad made Willcox back in the 1850s.
Montana Bob has been coming to winter in Arizona for seven years now. He loves to travel and used to travel south of the Border, but not anymore. “I have me a passport but I don’t go into Mexico no more” he confessed, even though he’s got friends south of the border he hasn’t seen in a while. “I don’t want to get killed by them drug dealers down there!” he added. He enjoys riding his Harley on Arizona's backroads when he's not in his motorhome where his wife normally waits for him.
Bob had to leave --he had been in town long enough--so we shook hands. I hope to meet up with him some day, somewhere.
"Make sure you come back to town and check out the Rex Allen Museum, it's fabulous!" Rex Allen was a silverscreen cowboy who was born in Willcox. Allen died in 1999 and a statue stands in his honor in the Historic Railroad Park in town. But other than this musuem there isn't much else to see in this part of town.
Montana Bob revved up his Harley Davidson and roared off. I joined Kevin in the back of the Palace Saloon, a rather homey little 1906 bar popular with the locals. He was sitting at a table of locals: One from Colorado, one woman from Texas (who looked indigenous), one from Oregon and Brown-toothed Bob from Willcox. This Willcox Bob remembers when Willcox went by another name, Camp Mahley, when his great-grandfather came here before the Civil War. “I was born here in an old Army Quonset hut," he explained, and could rattle off the old businesses in town from years gone by. The others at the table soon left and then it was just Willcox Bob, Kevin and me.
Bob was genuinely a nice man and could have told us the entire oral story of Willcox if we had time to spare. The back of the bar faced an alley, with old brick walls on either side of us. We were the only ones in the back now. Drunk Mexicans staggered in the back alley. Bob would yell at them in fluent Spanish. He was no doubt a man of this town and knew all the locals. He owned another bar at the other side of town but had others tending to it.
I liked Bob but excused myself to return my plate to Rodney next door. Kevin soon followed so we just left from there. Odd, this small town of Willcox, with one diner, one bar and the Rex Allen Museum a block away, really didn’t offer much to passers-by but the locals seem to know one another well. Besides meet for beer at the Saloon, though, I’m not sure what else locals do around here. From all the beer cans and bottles I saw along the roads today, I gather drinking is a big pastime in this part of the county, the forgotten part of the county.
Bob was genuinely a nice man and could have told us the entire oral story of Willcox if we had time to spare. The back of the bar faced an alley, with old brick walls on either side of us. We were the only ones in the back now. Drunk Mexicans staggered in the back alley. Bob would yell at them in fluent Spanish. He was no doubt a man of this town and knew all the locals. He owned another bar at the other side of town but had others tending to it.
I liked Bob but excused myself to return my plate to Rodney next door. Kevin soon followed so we just left from there. Odd, this small town of Willcox, with one diner, one bar and the Rex Allen Museum a block away, really didn’t offer much to passers-by but the locals seem to know one another well. Besides meet for beer at the Saloon, though, I’m not sure what else locals do around here. From all the beer cans and bottles I saw along the roads today, I gather drinking is a big pastime in this part of the county, the forgotten part of the county.
Our drive back was rather quiet. Kevin was fighting fatigue and so were the dogs. Sammy and Sara were stretched out in the back of the truck, forcing Sadie to sleep as close to us in the front. She used my right driving arm as a headrest.
Ugly oversized billboards between Willcox and Benson reminded people to visit "The Thing" off exit 322, "Eat Beef" and "In God We Trust" and if you paid attention you would also notice a "SPAY AND NEUTER YOUR PET" sign.
____
Teachers in Arizona:
Friday, January 23, 2009
Creosote and Sage
After three days of mild weather and overcast skies, it finally rained yesterday. I couldn't enjoy the rain as I was indoors most of the day, at the high school during the day and the college at night and the city library inbetween doing more research. But everytime I went outside to flit from one place to another, wafts of wet creosote and sage would tickle my nostrils.
I love desert rains. They make the mountains here come to life and everything in it sings, prances, darts, slithers, pounces with delight. Rains here bring out the "wild" in wildlife. The smell of creosote and sage is the kind of smell that Yankee Candle Company can't replicate. It's the kind of smell I yearned for when I lived back East.
We needed this rain.
The mountains were hidden from view these last few days, and if it weren't for the mild weather and the smell of creosote and sage, I could imagine being back in Chicagoland where I'd pretend low-lying cumulus clouds were snow-capped mountains. But I don't want to pretend today, as the high in Chicagoland today was only in the upper 20s. Brr.
I didn't get called in to sub today and that was fine with me as I've been exhausted lately. I actually slept in until 6:30am today and then went outside to garden between soft drizzles. I had been neglecting the back garden for too long. I did very little research today; I just enjoyed the rain, the dogs and the hidden mountains shrouded in fog.
Tall Fescue grass that I planted a month ago and placed under clear plastic (to increase the heat for germination and to keep the birds away) has germinated. So yes, planting grass in the high desert in the winter IS possible. In another five weeks I can start my vegetable garden again.
Tomorrow I have another Rain Water Harvesting class in town. Our neighbors across the street are finally moving into their new home in town and my Canon Rebel xTi replacement body arrived from Adorama (Best on-line source for camera gear). It's a refurbished model but it looks and performs like new. It looks so new I'm determined to keep it at home on hikes and to take my Canon A560 instead. I opted to replace the camera body after determining that the sensor inside had been damaged (no wonder my autofocus and flash weren't working!). I'll eventually get the camera fixed and cleaned and give it to my son before he moves to Boston next summer.
I love desert rains. They make the mountains here come to life and everything in it sings, prances, darts, slithers, pounces with delight. Rains here bring out the "wild" in wildlife. The smell of creosote and sage is the kind of smell that Yankee Candle Company can't replicate. It's the kind of smell I yearned for when I lived back East.
We needed this rain.
The mountains were hidden from view these last few days, and if it weren't for the mild weather and the smell of creosote and sage, I could imagine being back in Chicagoland where I'd pretend low-lying cumulus clouds were snow-capped mountains. But I don't want to pretend today, as the high in Chicagoland today was only in the upper 20s. Brr.
I didn't get called in to sub today and that was fine with me as I've been exhausted lately. I actually slept in until 6:30am today and then went outside to garden between soft drizzles. I had been neglecting the back garden for too long. I did very little research today; I just enjoyed the rain, the dogs and the hidden mountains shrouded in fog.
Tall Fescue grass that I planted a month ago and placed under clear plastic (to increase the heat for germination and to keep the birds away) has germinated. So yes, planting grass in the high desert in the winter IS possible. In another five weeks I can start my vegetable garden again.
Tomorrow I have another Rain Water Harvesting class in town. Our neighbors across the street are finally moving into their new home in town and my Canon Rebel xTi replacement body arrived from Adorama (Best on-line source for camera gear). It's a refurbished model but it looks and performs like new. It looks so new I'm determined to keep it at home on hikes and to take my Canon A560 instead. I opted to replace the camera body after determining that the sensor inside had been damaged (no wonder my autofocus and flash weren't working!). I'll eventually get the camera fixed and cleaned and give it to my son before he moves to Boston next summer.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Oh Happy Day
"Happy Birthday, Connie" said Kevin as I pounced on the coffee machine. Oh, yeah, almost forgot. I had something more exciting today to look forward to, and it was a nice birthday present.
I KNEW I was going to get called in today because teachers were going to take the day off to watch the Inauguration. Just to be prepared for this, I was up late last night reading a class assignment and showered at midnight. So when the first phone call came through at 5:40am I knew I was working today. Then the second district called which I had to turn down. I volunteered for American Government for Seniors. What better subject for today!
Weather was beautiful again, the second day in a row we had 50F morning weather. (It got to 78F in Tucson yesterday). This won't hold for long as a mean storm front is pushing in off of the California coast. The sunrise over northern Sonora was a bright red spreading across high cerrus clouds. What a view to drive into.
I managed to do in class what I would have done at home: watch the Inauguration live via television. Since I went to the Inaugurations of 1993 and 2001 --I lived in New Jersey during those years-- I was able to add some commentary, but today's event was simply history in the making. I wanted the students to see it.
One observant Senior was able to identify former Presidents Carter, Bush41, Clinton, even Senators John Kerry and McCain who all were in the VIP seating at the Capitol Building.
Most of the Seniors seemed more interested in talking about the Senior Prom and how the school district is no longer passing out free condoms for all participants because of the national controversy that old practice created last year. The national attention and subsequent press coverage embarrassed the local policy makers. The new school superintendent decided not to pass out condoms this year.
"I guess they don't care if Seniors get pregnant or catch some kind of STD" said one out-spoken Senior. The discussion quickly changed to teen sex. I mentioned how aghast I was when my own daughter came home one day and talked about a classmate who was caught giving head to two boys on school property. (This was at the Pacific Grove Middle School in California) The girl was expelled, the boys were not. Soon everyone in the middle school was talking about who gives head and who does not. One Senior boy told me I was from the "older generation" and that the newer generation doesn't frown on oral sex like us Old Folk do...I said no more. http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1998342/posts
I didn't stay in Bisbee for long after work. There was no massive party in the Old Bisbee section and those who were playing music looked rather wasted. I read a few magazines at the library for a few hours and then drove home, ready to type my essays for tomorrow's class. There was an inaugural ball in town later that night but I didn't attend.
http://www.worldnetdaily.com/index.php?fa=PAGE.view&pageId=61003
The not-so-good news is losing our Governor, Janet Napolitano to Homeland Security. Our new governor, Jan Brewer, seems promising though. She's a known fiscal conservative, someone I can work with. Our state deficit has grown now to $1.6 billion. I just hope she doesn't cater too much to the wealthy duffers who seem to keep moving to this state. She's already said she will cut back on the education budget to curtail the rising deficit.
Tucson and southeast Arizona tend to get ignored by Phoenix. (I would seriously recommend retiring duffers move to Florida where there is year-round green grass and where water is not a problem.)
I got a blister on my right ankle that got aggravated during the day. I hope that didn't get infected. I have a smaller one on my left big toe that's also a nuisance. I'm going to need Kevin to help me with walking the dogs for a few days.
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2009/01/20/news/breaking_news/doc49766ae4eefd0715100014.txt http://www.svherald.com/articles/2009/01/21/news/doc4976c069d12e0384292019.txt
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2009/01/19/news/doc4974386eec939978063968.txt
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2009/01/21/news/doc4976c1d61aa4a804981679.txt
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2009/01/21/news/doc4976c226ee291515124329.txt
I KNEW I was going to get called in today because teachers were going to take the day off to watch the Inauguration. Just to be prepared for this, I was up late last night reading a class assignment and showered at midnight. So when the first phone call came through at 5:40am I knew I was working today. Then the second district called which I had to turn down. I volunteered for American Government for Seniors. What better subject for today!
Weather was beautiful again, the second day in a row we had 50F morning weather. (It got to 78F in Tucson yesterday). This won't hold for long as a mean storm front is pushing in off of the California coast. The sunrise over northern Sonora was a bright red spreading across high cerrus clouds. What a view to drive into.
I managed to do in class what I would have done at home: watch the Inauguration live via television. Since I went to the Inaugurations of 1993 and 2001 --I lived in New Jersey during those years-- I was able to add some commentary, but today's event was simply history in the making. I wanted the students to see it.
One observant Senior was able to identify former Presidents Carter, Bush41, Clinton, even Senators John Kerry and McCain who all were in the VIP seating at the Capitol Building.
Most of the Seniors seemed more interested in talking about the Senior Prom and how the school district is no longer passing out free condoms for all participants because of the national controversy that old practice created last year. The national attention and subsequent press coverage embarrassed the local policy makers. The new school superintendent decided not to pass out condoms this year.
"I guess they don't care if Seniors get pregnant or catch some kind of STD" said one out-spoken Senior. The discussion quickly changed to teen sex. I mentioned how aghast I was when my own daughter came home one day and talked about a classmate who was caught giving head to two boys on school property. (This was at the Pacific Grove Middle School in California) The girl was expelled, the boys were not. Soon everyone in the middle school was talking about who gives head and who does not. One Senior boy told me I was from the "older generation" and that the newer generation doesn't frown on oral sex like us Old Folk do...I said no more. http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1998342/posts
I didn't stay in Bisbee for long after work. There was no massive party in the Old Bisbee section and those who were playing music looked rather wasted. I read a few magazines at the library for a few hours and then drove home, ready to type my essays for tomorrow's class. There was an inaugural ball in town later that night but I didn't attend.
http://www.worldnetdaily.com/index.php?fa=PAGE.view&pageId=61003
The not-so-good news is losing our Governor, Janet Napolitano to Homeland Security. Our new governor, Jan Brewer, seems promising though. She's a known fiscal conservative, someone I can work with. Our state deficit has grown now to $1.6 billion. I just hope she doesn't cater too much to the wealthy duffers who seem to keep moving to this state. She's already said she will cut back on the education budget to curtail the rising deficit.
Tucson and southeast Arizona tend to get ignored by Phoenix. (I would seriously recommend retiring duffers move to Florida where there is year-round green grass and where water is not a problem.)
I got a blister on my right ankle that got aggravated during the day. I hope that didn't get infected. I have a smaller one on my left big toe that's also a nuisance. I'm going to need Kevin to help me with walking the dogs for a few days.
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2009/01/20/news/breaking_news/doc49766ae4eefd0715100014.txt http://www.svherald.com/articles/2009/01/21/news/doc4976c069d12e0384292019.txt
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2009/01/19/news/doc4974386eec939978063968.txt
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2009/01/21/news/doc4976c1d61aa4a804981679.txt
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2009/01/21/news/doc4976c226ee291515124329.txt
Monday, January 19, 2009
Miller Peak
Well, I finally did it this month: The dogs and I hiked up Miller Peak today, a butt-kicking 9.4 miles up steep and rocky switchbacks to a 9466' summit. The starting elevation was 5750' at the trailhead, 8750' at the Crest Trail.
It was 58F in the valley at 10am with no wind. I got to the trailhead to Lutz Canyon after a 5.5 mile drive from home. Another car with Washington State plates was parked nearby. It was mild as we started, and I wrapped my fleece sweater around my waist. I never needed my wind/rain jacket for this hike.
We started the ascent at 10:21am, entering the Miller Peak Wilderness. I wasn't sure how far I was going to go; I figured I'd take the dogs to the snowline and turn around. But we never reached a snowline. The entire trail was mostly dry with a few insignificant snow sheets near shaded north slopes. The dogs mellowed up after the first mile when they realized "Oh shit, she's taking us up to the peak!"
The trail did not look familiar to me. I thought I had done this hike back in 2005 with Kevin. I never came across the abandoned mining equipment, such as the famous steam engine or air compressor that stand in all its rusted glory off the trail. Was I that hard at breathing to notice?
I only made one false step on an illegal trail near a switchback. When I realized the trail was too rocky, too straight and too far up a northern slope, I turned around. I don't know how much time I lost here, but at least the dogs enjoyed romping in the icy snow.
The trail started out as a single track for the first 100 feet. Then it widened to its old mining trail width for the first mile, climbing ever uphill at a steep slant. Parts of this trail were badly eroded by landslides and other fallen debris. Parts of the trail still had the deepened sections that old bull wagon wheels had dug in. The first mile was shaded and followed the dry creek bed of the Lutz Creek. Several overgrown former mining trails split at various points along this lower trail to other mines nearby. I did not explore any of them because of the time. I knew I had to beat feet the entire hike to make it back at a reasonable time.
Emory oaks, manzanitas, Arizona mountain laurel studded the path. Near the upper Black Bear mine the flora changed to Douglas fir, scrub oak, thornbrush and various grasses. I rested here,
wishing the discarded backpacks, clothes and food around the mine entrance weren't there. This was the first place I saw so much trash the illegals leave behind. When I looked down the mine shaft all I could see was discarded trash the entire way. This must be where illegals take lunch breaks or spend the night before continuing down the steep switchback to the trailhead.
The view of Lutz Canyon was spectacular, and the higher I climbed the more I could see the mountain ranges of northern Sonora. The view was toward the Southeast. The higher I climbed the more narrower the trail became. This was not a very heavily-used trail. Thornbrush pricked me along the last mile of the slope.
We made it to the Crest Trail later than expected. I had taken several water breaks for the dogs and stopped a few more times to look at some of the rocks and minerals off the path. I have enough crystals at home so I left the specimens for the next hiker. We didn't reach the ridge until 1:35pm and the peak was still 1.5 miles away. By now the dogs stayed close by; they were tired, too. We were now on the highest point of the Arizona trail. The only spot higher than this is along the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.
At least the Crest Trail was relatively level and there was more snow here for the dogs to cool off with. Most of the snow was icy and in small patches under trees. The trail itself was quite dry. Crampons were not needed on this hike. The only people we met were a couple from Washington State. The dogs were excited because they had their dog with them, too, a small Black Lab mix. They turned around before reaching the summit. But I was determined to make it.
The only treacherous part was the half-mile climb up the peak trail to the summit. The northern slopes here had thick layers of icy snow on the trail. Despite the snow that fell here over the Christmas holiday, the oaks looked precariously drought-stricken. Meteorologists are already predicting a poor wildflower showing this spring due to the lack of winter rains and snow.
We made it to the Miller Peak trail at 2:14pm and made it to the summit 20 minutes later. We were at 9466 feet elevation.
The lack of any wind surprised me. It was calm and warm on top. It was a perfect place for the dogs to rest for 20 minutes, snack on the jerky I carried for them, and enjoy the view. The dogs seemed to look down on the valley, and Sadie especially seemed thrilled to be on top of the world. I could have laid down myself and napped in the afternoon sun. It was just the dogs and I on this remote summit, with the rest of civilization in the valley below.
I took a few photos of me at the summit, but all of them have more of the dogs' butts in them then of me! Whenever I'd run to the focused spot (usually a shrub or a large rock) the dogs would run after me. This resulted in more close-ups of Sara's black butt than any shots of me. But other than that, the dogs were well-behaved and did not stray too far from me.
I could have stayed at the summit longer if it weren't for the waning sunlight. I was already an hour later than expected at the peak. The cellphone I had died on me as I tried to make the one connecting call from the peak to Kevin, to let him know I made it to the top and that I was soon on my way down.
The panoramic views off Miller Peak were spectacular. I recognized some of the stockponds in northern Sonora that Mike took us to. Mount Wrightson poked its prominence to the northeast. The San Rafael valley was to our west, the San Pedro Valley to our east, and the vast Sonoran mountains to the south. Visibility was great today! The Sonoran National Park where President Reagan fell off his horse while vacationing in Mexico in 1989 was also quite visible, and its long ridge quite prominent.
We left the summit at 3:06pm. I could hear shooters in Ash Canyon below as we slowly closed in on our truck. We made it back to the truck at 5:17pm. We had the mounstain shade over us the entire time, which seemed to please the dogs just fine. We were all exhausted when we got back to the truck, and I was relieved to get off my blistering feet. My Montrail Torre GTX hikers were a bit too heavy and hot for this trek. I could have done this hike in my Adidas trail runners.
I am glad I made this hike afterall. The dogs did great but I think I will leave Sara home next time. She gets overheated too fast and tires easily. She's better off home with Dad so just in case there's an emergency in the mountains, Kevin could take Sara with him and have her track my scent. She's an excellent tracker and I wonder sometimes if her previous owner, a Military Policeman, had her trained in that skill. She loves to track scents while hiking and her head is never upright like Sammy's.
I'm not sure what trail I will hike up next month, but the western slopes sure do look inviting.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Copper Creek Road
The drive to Copper Creek east of Mammoth, AZ took longer than planned. We left our house at 8:40am. We headed north on Highway 90 to Interstate 10 toward Benson. From here we drove a short distance east on I-10 and turned north on Pomerene Road. This road turns into River Road north of Redington. We had entered the Sonoran desert as Saguaros popped up around us the further north we drove.
We got to the trailhead at noon. We had taken short breaks along the way to let the dogs out to pee, but still, the drive there was exhausting. I drove 40mph most of the way on River Road, passing Snowbirds in vans driving half as fast.
Copper Creek Trail starts on the east side of River Road from the small immigrant town of Mammouth. It is an unmarked dirt road. A yellow sign warns drivers that this is a Primitive Road, but this wasn't as primitive as other roads I've been on in Arizona.
A shooting range is right off to the left as one drives east. Many shooters were busy practicing their skills as we drove past. I thought the road was well-graded most of the way, as it ascended the western Galiuros with panoramic views toward the Rincons and the Santa Catalinas to our far west. Mammoth glistened in the valley.
The road was public land, but on either side of us was State Trust Land. This was land that others felt they could litter with broken glass, used toilet paper, and other trash. It was no surpirse then to learn that a "Road Closed" sign near the start meant there was no through-way.
We stopped several times near scenic vistas or abandoned mines to walk around. Saguaro and Teddy Bear Cacti dotted the roads around us. Copper Creek at times ran clear, then coppery, and finally a turquoise color that seemed eerie against the bright afternoon sun.
The road narrowed to one lane two miles from the Copper Creek Ruins, which were nothing more than a graffitti-smothered water tank and a few rock foundations. There was no sign of any permanent settlements here. Did the miners here live in tents, wooden structures, or not at all?
Several Monster Trucks came toward us from Sombrero Butte, the highest point on the road. The road was blocked off at this point and they were turning around. These were Monster Trucks I have never seen on backcountry roads before. They made my Ford look puny.
We parked here, had a lunch, and walked down to the creek. We meandered along the creek for a while. Kevin explored uphill while I stayed near the water, hugging steep canyon walls. The dogs enjoyed the cool water.
We didn't stay long, though. Kevin couldn't find any relics. He did find a very dead cow and removed the skull. I guess that someday that skull will be hanging on our back porch once we get it chemically blanched.
He went back to the truck while I went back up another sidetrail, focused on several mature cottonwoods further uphill. A retainer wall stopped the creek at this point, and uphill from here there was little water on the surface.
The trail came to a dead-end a half-mile from where I started. A steep side canyon took off here near a gargantuan cottonwood that had one side branch digging into the soil. This area was a camp site of some sort, judging by the trash and toilet paper stuck to low-lying shrubs.
As I walked further uphill I realized I was walking in a flood zone. When this area gets rain, the entire box canyon would flood. It's no wonder the trail came to an abrupt end.
I was a little disappointed that the Copper Creek Trail did not allow us to drive the loop road as was depicted on our topo map. Nothing on other websites said this road was now closed off to through traffic. We ended up driving back the way we came--a 45-minute drive back to River Road--and headed back home the way we came, along the dusty and washboard-rumbling River Road.
This is beautiful country nonetheless, with lush green agricultural fields hugging the San Pedro, dairy cows in Cascabel, and two impressive mountain ranges on either side. Unmarked dirt roads from either side invite explorers to go off-road into deep, riparian canyons.
We could see the Huachucas from 40 miles away. And it was at this point on our return trip that we heard on an AM station out of Denver that the Arizona Cardinals won the NFC championship against the Philadelphia Eagles. The Cards will now play against the Pittsburgh Steelers for the Super Bowl on 1 February. I'm sure football fans across Pennsylvania were transfixed to their TVs today.
I'm glad I got to see Copper Canyon, but like Kevin said, we did more driving than walking. None of the trails off the main road went far; they were all unmarked former mining trails that led to long-abandoned mines. And, in retrospect, we probably did not hike up the right trail to the old town ruins as we never came across the Sibley Mansion ruins. Had we walked up another trail perhaps we could have gotten some walking in.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Digging Dirt and the Blues
"Connie's taking a class in water conservation" Dianna said last night at the first bar. Well, that's partially true. It's the rain water harvesting class through the UA campus but it's not so much the conservation part, but rather the harveting and management of it I'm studying on the weekends. The class teaches Mast er Gardeners how to best divert water for optimum usage and what kinds of materials to use and how to design retaining and diverting devices.
Kevin was still feeding a hang-over this morning as I was ready to leave for my class. He really did overdo it last night, but at least he's a cute drunk and not a mean or assholic one. He and Tommy were fun to watch for the first two hours we were in Bisbee. But both just never knew when to quit.
"Aren't you going to get up and have some coffee?" I asked him as he was still splayed on the bed. It was already past 7am. We almost always share our first cup before sunrise every day, even on the weekends.
"Go to class!" he grumbled back at me.
"Ooooh, I see someone's not feeling too great right now, eh?" I was asking for trouble.
"Eeerrrrrrrrrr!" he fired back. He was lucky I had to leave at 8am or else I would have made his morning more miserable by clancking pots in the bedroom or pulling on certain body parts.
Our class today met on a commercial cattle ranch outside Huachuca City, in an area I have never been before: Sanders and Bowers Road both east of Mustang Corners. The ranch was just west of the River. A thin layer of fog drifted over the wash as I arrived at the meeting site. It was quite cold as we gathered in the parking lot.
We had two additional speakers this time: Gerry, from the Natural Resources Conservation (NRC) who showed us how to built berms across low-lying flood areas, and Mike, the owner of the Hayhurst Ranch. Both gave good viewpoints of water management.
"The biggest enemy of a rancher is the land developer" said Mike. Whew, as I was expecting him to say "The biggest enemey is the environmentalist." Mike is a new generation of ranchers and his management made sense. We were in what he described as the "worst part of the ranch" with nothing more than creosote and mesquite, some thornbush and a lot of caliche and eroded areas. This was very poor grazing land because it had been badly eroded in years of heavy flooding here. And it was our job to build a berm to help control the flow of water through the wash.
The work didn't take too long. We had enough workers and were done in three hours. We dug, carried haystacks, cut wire, collected BFRs (Big Fcking Rocks), shoveled dirt and completed two berms. Neither Gerry nor Mike expected us to get the task done so fast. And although I am poor with mechanics, once we got started I quickly learned how the berm was to be built. And who ever thought that ten-year-old haystacks could last so long AND be the primary substance of a berm? By next monsoon the hay will be covered in a layer of dirt that will actually fasten the hay rather than promote its decomposition. All the materials were old materials that were donated by the BLM. So not only did we built a low-cost berm, we were able to reuse the materials for this project.
Mike's ranch is several miles long in all directions.
The one person I enjoyed listening to was Gerry, though. According to Gerry, we weren't managing the land, we were "healing" the land. The berms will allow native grasses to grow during the next monsoon, which in turn will bring food to the cattle. When the grasses die Mike will be able to set a fire to burn down the creosote and mesquite. And when those two flora are dead, more grasses will be able to grow, further growing the land back to a more usable manner.
"Water can not be controlled. We can not stop it. We can only slow it down or divert it."
There was something about Gerry that I found mystifying. His manner of speech, his choices of words, his calm demeanor prompted me to ask him where he was from.
"I am Mexican-Apache. My father's side came to this area as early as 1547." He looked Mexican but his clear speech is something I have noticed among the Natives. They don't talk fast, they never interrupt others, and they speak each word as if they were all carefully chosen. It's the kind of speech that makes people listen.
"I love working with the land" he told me. "I love teaching others. But sometimes I just want to go into nature and be alone to listen to the sounds." I could definitely relate to all that.
We were released an hour earlier than planned. I got home and drove Kevin back to Bisbee so he could pick up his truck. The dogs were in the back so that I could take them back to the river for a quick 30-minute splash.
A cowboy-hatted fat man in a red Dodge Dakota pick-up (529WGS) gave me "the finger" as he passed me on Hereford Road toward Bisbee. He had a "Proud Republican" and "US Army Retired" and "First Cavalry" bumper sticker on the back of his truck. The finger, I'm sure, was because of my Obama-Biden bumper sticker on my truck. I sped up just enough to get a photo of his license plate. My spedometer got up to 80mph (in a 45 mph zone...)
"Easy Connie..." said Kevin.
"Why? What do you think I'm going to do?" Kevin didn't answer. But he HAS seen me in rage before over rude drivers like that "Proud Republican (Asshole)."
FatMan turned west toward Patagonia. I turned east toward Bisbee. FatMan was lucky that time. FatMan is also going to be spending the next four years in misery with Democrats in office. Geez.
We had a quick lunch at Mexico Lindo and went our separate ways: he went to SV for grocery shopping and I turned south to head toward the river.
But as I got to the Bisbee Coffee Company I heard good, live music. It was Blues music, one of my favorite live music. I parked the car behind the coffee shop, again, apologized to the dogs for keeping them waiting (they retaliated by eating our left-over lunch) and walked back to the stage to hear the band.
I recognized Leo and his brother and mom right away. Leo! He was one of my favoite students last year when I taught 6th grade. I sat down with them and chatted, and Sheryl filled me in on all the happenings at that school since I had left in October: there have been 15 substitute teachers there since I quit. And apparently I still hold the record time at that place. The man after me only lasted 2.5 weeks, and he was a retired school principal from a nearby town. (He quit because of disagreements with the pay).
Everyone in Bisbee knows the troubles with that school, and I still find blogs talking about certain disciplinary kids or psycho problems (The mother of one of my students who lost an eye in a home invasion: several armed drug dealers broke into her home looking for her husband. He wasn't there so they attacked her with a baseball bat. The parents of two of my students were cocaine dealers. The woman now will live the rest of her life with a fake eye and a large scar around her eye.)
Scott, Leo's dad, was in the band. That's when I remembered he had told me he played in a local band, "Out of the Blue," which has a few good tracks on YouTube.
I chatted for a while with the family. The crowd got bigger but I also knew I had to get going because the dogs were in the truck (in the shade) and I had promised them a walk along the river. I said my good-byes and left Bisbee at 4pm.
And as usual, the dogs had fun splashing around in the shallow waters of the San Pedro. The grasshoppers have finally all died back but now there are more javelina and coyote holes near the river one must watch out for. The holes are big enough to twist an ankle in. The dogs sniffed every hole, and if Sammy could, peed in every hole as well. Sara got wet and came out of the water smelling like funky algae.
Kevin cooked dinner and I planned tomorrow's roadtrip: a loop drive north toward Copper Creek. It's a 200-mile day drive with lots of stops and explorations. The old ruins of Copper Creek town are still there, and old mining trails beckon me to climb the summits. I've been wanting to explore that area ever since I first read about the Copper Creek Trail in a Backroad guide to southern Arizona. The land looks similar to the land around Oatman on Route 66.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Gay bars in Bisbee
The nice thing about working in Bisbee is relaxing in town for a few hours. I drove toward Old Bisbee, ordered a cheese pizza at Pizza Roma's and waited for Kevin to join me at the Grand Hotel Saloon.
The place this time was busy. A classmate of mine, JoAnne, was there with her husband. Linda was bartending. I recognized a few other regulars who were at the Saloon last Monday.
Kevin came in with his best pal Tommy and soon Tommy's wife Dianne followed. We had a nice time, she and I, talking about our husbands and their quirky ways. Her Italian-Long Island accent was noticable, and after a few more beers she got funny. The best part of the night, outside of chatting with Dianna, was listening to both Kevin and Tommy talk with their Boston and New York accents. The more they drank, the more the "R" disappeared in their speech.
"So Connie, is this your new hang-out?" asked Tommy.
"It could be!"
To which he said I would love having a house in Bisbee. "You'd really fit in here."
We met Trudy, a British-Columbian who was down in Arizona for the month. She came down to visit Bisbee and decided to spend the weekend.
The boys wanted to walk down to St Elmo's. That bar is Tommy's favorite. Perhaps he felt uncomfortable at the Grand because he told me that the Grand was the new "Gay Bar." Oh really? Sure, there were a few gays at the front of the counter, but with as many gays as there are in Bisbee, it would seem natural to have gays in bars, too.
"See that guy over there?" said Tommy, pointing to a short older man in a Panama hat. "He's gay."
We walked down to St Elmo's Bar on Brewery Gulch, leaving a crowded Grand Saloon behind. The town was quiet for a Friday night. There was hardly anyone at St Elmo's beside an out-going and dramatic man named D who told Dianna that Tommy was "hot." I don't think he realized that Dianna and Tommy were a couple, but it was quite clear that D thought Tommy had a nice package.
And the funny thing was that D was serious. He wasn't coming on to Tommy; he was sincere in his feelings.
Dianna and I ended up talking to D for quite a while, just getting to know D. He told us his story of how he moved from Portland, OR to come to this area with his mother, so she could be closer to her daughter in nearby Sierra Vista. When his partner of 12 years was killed six years ago, D sold everything and moved his mother and himself to this place. He quit a $175,000 interior-design job for a job as a florist in town making 10% of what he used to make.
Even Kevin liked D. D made no qualms about his gayness and his honesty was what I liked so much about him.
It was obvious that D was still missing his partner. Perhaps his Rum-and-Cokes were getting to him, but I saw a sad side to this man. "They can put a man on the moon but they can't put a man on top of me!" he said rather coyly. "Honey, most of the gays you see here in town are Gays-for-Pay" (a term I honestly had never heard before), and he hasn't seen a man in years he was truly attracted to. When Dianna pointed to another man she used to know and asked him if he was attracted, D simply replied "Girl, look at his face! He looks like a pizza! And that butt looks like a girls'." I thought the guy was rather unattractive myself, with his tight jeans, bony ass, and hair and face that looked like it came from Steve Tyler.
I had stopped drinking shortly after 6pm. It was now past 10pm and Tommy and Dianna wanted us to stop at their place for a while. They have a nice loft home in a steep side canyon, a small house they bought for $5000 over 30 years ago. Tommy totally rebuilt the inside into a beautiful home. The house has more room than it appears from the outside.
Their daughter and her boyfriend were over as we came by. I know the daughter from subbing at the highschool. She's a quiet young woman who resembles her mom.
I was now getting tired and needed to get on the road before I got too tired to drive. The boys were several percentage points beyond "extreme DUI."
Despite all the festivities in the bars, the town itself was very quiet. I really could live in Bisbee and fall in love with the place. Sure, it's got its share of drug users, criminals, snotty tourists and rich socialites but those kinds of people are found in any decent town.
The place this time was busy. A classmate of mine, JoAnne, was there with her husband. Linda was bartending. I recognized a few other regulars who were at the Saloon last Monday.
Kevin came in with his best pal Tommy and soon Tommy's wife Dianne followed. We had a nice time, she and I, talking about our husbands and their quirky ways. Her Italian-Long Island accent was noticable, and after a few more beers she got funny. The best part of the night, outside of chatting with Dianna, was listening to both Kevin and Tommy talk with their Boston and New York accents. The more they drank, the more the "R" disappeared in their speech.
"So Connie, is this your new hang-out?" asked Tommy.
"It could be!"
To which he said I would love having a house in Bisbee. "You'd really fit in here."
We met Trudy, a British-Columbian who was down in Arizona for the month. She came down to visit Bisbee and decided to spend the weekend.
The boys wanted to walk down to St Elmo's. That bar is Tommy's favorite. Perhaps he felt uncomfortable at the Grand because he told me that the Grand was the new "Gay Bar." Oh really? Sure, there were a few gays at the front of the counter, but with as many gays as there are in Bisbee, it would seem natural to have gays in bars, too.
"See that guy over there?" said Tommy, pointing to a short older man in a Panama hat. "He's gay."
We walked down to St Elmo's Bar on Brewery Gulch, leaving a crowded Grand Saloon behind. The town was quiet for a Friday night. There was hardly anyone at St Elmo's beside an out-going and dramatic man named D who told Dianna that Tommy was "hot." I don't think he realized that Dianna and Tommy were a couple, but it was quite clear that D thought Tommy had a nice package.
And the funny thing was that D was serious. He wasn't coming on to Tommy; he was sincere in his feelings.
Dianna and I ended up talking to D for quite a while, just getting to know D. He told us his story of how he moved from Portland, OR to come to this area with his mother, so she could be closer to her daughter in nearby Sierra Vista. When his partner of 12 years was killed six years ago, D sold everything and moved his mother and himself to this place. He quit a $175,000 interior-design job for a job as a florist in town making 10% of what he used to make.
Even Kevin liked D. D made no qualms about his gayness and his honesty was what I liked so much about him.
It was obvious that D was still missing his partner. Perhaps his Rum-and-Cokes were getting to him, but I saw a sad side to this man. "They can put a man on the moon but they can't put a man on top of me!" he said rather coyly. "Honey, most of the gays you see here in town are Gays-for-Pay" (a term I honestly had never heard before), and he hasn't seen a man in years he was truly attracted to. When Dianna pointed to another man she used to know and asked him if he was attracted, D simply replied "Girl, look at his face! He looks like a pizza! And that butt looks like a girls'." I thought the guy was rather unattractive myself, with his tight jeans, bony ass, and hair and face that looked like it came from Steve Tyler.
I had stopped drinking shortly after 6pm. It was now past 10pm and Tommy and Dianna wanted us to stop at their place for a while. They have a nice loft home in a steep side canyon, a small house they bought for $5000 over 30 years ago. Tommy totally rebuilt the inside into a beautiful home. The house has more room than it appears from the outside.
Their daughter and her boyfriend were over as we came by. I know the daughter from subbing at the highschool. She's a quiet young woman who resembles her mom.
I was now getting tired and needed to get on the road before I got too tired to drive. The boys were several percentage points beyond "extreme DUI."
Despite all the festivities in the bars, the town itself was very quiet. I really could live in Bisbee and fall in love with the place. Sure, it's got its share of drug users, criminals, snotty tourists and rich socialites but those kinds of people are found in any decent town.
Something Special
"If neither school calls tomorrow, I'm going hiking with the dogs up Lutz Canyon" I informed Kevin last night. We were both up late describing each other's Thursday's classes. His may get cancelled if not enough people register for it by Tuesday and I shared my fear of my instructor. He went on several angry rants about the school district he's employed with, the Federal government and "Those in power."
I was a little upset because the instructor listed in the semester catalog is not the one teaching the class. For some people that's a big thing. I don't know enough instructors to have opinions of them but I know that all three of mine are going to be demanding. I will no doubt be challenged this semester and I can't afford to procrastinate.
The alarm went off just before 5am this morning. I was exhausted and lay in bed until 5:30am before showering. There were no jobs listed on Subfinder, Bisbee hadn't called all week and it was looking like a free day for me today to release some early-semester tension.
At 5:45am I got a call to come in. I volunteered for Special Ed again. My first time in the classroom wasn't so bad at all, in a middle school 8th grade class. No one brandished a knife or weapon or threatened to kill me. A few boys had screaming tantrums but I just ignored them.
My hike will have to be postponed again. The snow is still on the peaks but I can tell by the afternoon sun's rays on the melting snow that the warmer daytime temperatures has melted some of the layers. I was going to hike as far up the trail as was feasible, and turn around when the snow got too much for the dogs. There's an abandoned siver mine up Lutz Canyon, and a round trip would have been about four miles. Further up the trail the path becomes steep and ascends up toward the Crest Trail, a 2.9-mile hike one-way with an elevation of around 8600.'
Sadie was laying on Kevin's side of the bed this morning just before I left the house. She looked so cute there, UNDER THE BLANKET, with her head poking out. I didn't bother telling her to get off the bed; her punishment was going to be being left alone with her packmates all day.
The day itself was easy as I had an aide who helped me with some of the more demanding students. The fun part began in the afternoon when several seniors came in the last class. One needed an insulin injection. Another talked about his drug and alcohol use (!) as if that were the coolest thing to do. This man, approaching 21, talked about getting high with several well-known Bisbeeite homeless, including Damion who died last fall, and another famous homeless man, Luciano.
I need to learn how to best react to people who brag about their hard drug use. The boys talked about acid and cocaine as if those were daily dietary supplements.
I was a little upset because the instructor listed in the semester catalog is not the one teaching the class. For some people that's a big thing. I don't know enough instructors to have opinions of them but I know that all three of mine are going to be demanding. I will no doubt be challenged this semester and I can't afford to procrastinate.
The alarm went off just before 5am this morning. I was exhausted and lay in bed until 5:30am before showering. There were no jobs listed on Subfinder, Bisbee hadn't called all week and it was looking like a free day for me today to release some early-semester tension.
At 5:45am I got a call to come in. I volunteered for Special Ed again. My first time in the classroom wasn't so bad at all, in a middle school 8th grade class. No one brandished a knife or weapon or threatened to kill me. A few boys had screaming tantrums but I just ignored them.
My hike will have to be postponed again. The snow is still on the peaks but I can tell by the afternoon sun's rays on the melting snow that the warmer daytime temperatures has melted some of the layers. I was going to hike as far up the trail as was feasible, and turn around when the snow got too much for the dogs. There's an abandoned siver mine up Lutz Canyon, and a round trip would have been about four miles. Further up the trail the path becomes steep and ascends up toward the Crest Trail, a 2.9-mile hike one-way with an elevation of around 8600.'
Sadie was laying on Kevin's side of the bed this morning just before I left the house. She looked so cute there, UNDER THE BLANKET, with her head poking out. I didn't bother telling her to get off the bed; her punishment was going to be being left alone with her packmates all day.
The day itself was easy as I had an aide who helped me with some of the more demanding students. The fun part began in the afternoon when several seniors came in the last class. One needed an insulin injection. Another talked about his drug and alcohol use (!) as if that were the coolest thing to do. This man, approaching 21, talked about getting high with several well-known Bisbeeite homeless, including Damion who died last fall, and another famous homeless man, Luciano.
I need to learn how to best react to people who brag about their hard drug use. The boys talked about acid and cocaine as if those were daily dietary supplements.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
School school school
Mike and Bob left Arizona the next morning to resume their cross-country drive to Massachusetts, but before they left they asked us which city they should check out in Texas: San Antonio or Austin. Both Kevin and I gave a resounding "Austin!"
"If you guys like nightlife you'll have to check out Austin's 6th Street off Congress. That is one happening place, especially when a Texas team wins a sporting event." I said.
"It's like Bourbon street in New Orleans," added Kevin.
"Without all the boobs..." I clarified.
"Just follow directional signs to Downtown Austin, get on Congress Avenue, and as you are approaching the state capital --it's on a hill--take a right turn on 6th Steet. You won't be able to miss that street, that's the loudest one there! But there are nice places south of the Bat Bridge, more eclectic places like in Bisbee." Yeah, I started missing that town. It's by far the most fun city in Texas. San Antonio doesn't even compare, Dallas, Houston and El Paso don't even make the running, and if it weren't for the Alamo and the Riverwalk (the entire riverwalk and not just the crowded one-mile touristy stretch) there wouldn't be much to see there in San Anton either. The town's growing too fast for its traffic patterns and driving around town is a major clusterfuck; It's like driving around Atlanta.
I never got to see the boys off that day as I had to get up early for my first day at the high school in my new school district: a Freshman English class. The high school is intimidating, as there are security guards in every hallway and strict adherence to passes. The school is also four times larger than the high school in Bisbee. A free lunch is provided to all teachers, the pay is a bit more (and I get another raise after 20 days) AND the free workshops on Tuesdays count toward professional development. I really like that and will enjoy working at this school. I now have twice the work load working for two school districts, and I enjoy both for different reasons.
Yet teachers at this high school frown on me when they learn I work in Bisbee. I like the district, the staff and the students (it's some of the rabid parents I can't stand!) and I get defensive when teachers here badmouth that town. Bisbee's biggest problem is that the school district lacks serious funding, more cuts are predicted, to include cutting back on teachers' pay (!!!)
Because Bisbee is one-fourth the size of my new district, the schools are more intimate and people know one another. I know most of the students by name and always make sure I call them by their names when I can. There are many good students there.
But working this schedule can get tough. On Tuesday I went from the high school to the workshop and from there to the monthly Hiking Club meeting. I never got home until after 9pm. I will have many more days like that. Tonight Kevin and I met for dinner in town because he has a Thursday night class as well.
So, since the dogs hadn't been walked in several days due to our visitors, I took them out yesterday into the foothills for a few hours. It was my first day off in two weeks and I almost didn't know what to do. I had a laundry list of errands to complete.
Today I had a Spanish I and II classes, levels I was comfortable teaching. I must admit that as much fun as science and social studies are, I still enjoy Foreign languages the most. Although my assignment as a Guest Teacher was to play "Finding Nemo" with Spanish subtitles, most students at the rear of the class could not read the small fonts from the small TV on the wall. If I had had full control of the class I would have played a Spanish movie subtitled in English, preferably a cartoon that had no objectionable material and which many of the students may be familiar with.
And the students were aghast when I actually spoke in Spanish. "Our teacher doesn't speak to us in Spanish and doesn't make us speak it, either." How can you learn a foreign language if you never speak it?!
I can't wait to get a French or German class! This high school teaches both French and German, classes that Bisbee does not offer. This is the primary reason why I decided to work at two districts, so that I can get some training in the areas I majored in in college.
So far all my classes this semester promise to be fascinating and interesing: Native Peoples of the Southwest on Mondays, Intro to Special Education on Wednesdays, and Diversity in the Classroom on Thursdays. All of them are English-intensive courses and I will be doing a lot of writing, research and citing. Next semester I'll take some history and English classes, and perhaps I can squeeze in an Intermediate Spanish class. I could do all that if only the classes start after 4pm.
http://www.azstarnet.com/metro/276171.php
"If you guys like nightlife you'll have to check out Austin's 6th Street off Congress. That is one happening place, especially when a Texas team wins a sporting event." I said.
"It's like Bourbon street in New Orleans," added Kevin.
"Without all the boobs..." I clarified.
"Just follow directional signs to Downtown Austin, get on Congress Avenue, and as you are approaching the state capital --it's on a hill--take a right turn on 6th Steet. You won't be able to miss that street, that's the loudest one there! But there are nice places south of the Bat Bridge, more eclectic places like in Bisbee." Yeah, I started missing that town. It's by far the most fun city in Texas. San Antonio doesn't even compare, Dallas, Houston and El Paso don't even make the running, and if it weren't for the Alamo and the Riverwalk (the entire riverwalk and not just the crowded one-mile touristy stretch) there wouldn't be much to see there in San Anton either. The town's growing too fast for its traffic patterns and driving around town is a major clusterfuck; It's like driving around Atlanta.
I never got to see the boys off that day as I had to get up early for my first day at the high school in my new school district: a Freshman English class. The high school is intimidating, as there are security guards in every hallway and strict adherence to passes. The school is also four times larger than the high school in Bisbee. A free lunch is provided to all teachers, the pay is a bit more (and I get another raise after 20 days) AND the free workshops on Tuesdays count toward professional development. I really like that and will enjoy working at this school. I now have twice the work load working for two school districts, and I enjoy both for different reasons.
Yet teachers at this high school frown on me when they learn I work in Bisbee. I like the district, the staff and the students (it's some of the rabid parents I can't stand!) and I get defensive when teachers here badmouth that town. Bisbee's biggest problem is that the school district lacks serious funding, more cuts are predicted, to include cutting back on teachers' pay (!!!)
Because Bisbee is one-fourth the size of my new district, the schools are more intimate and people know one another. I know most of the students by name and always make sure I call them by their names when I can. There are many good students there.
But working this schedule can get tough. On Tuesday I went from the high school to the workshop and from there to the monthly Hiking Club meeting. I never got home until after 9pm. I will have many more days like that. Tonight Kevin and I met for dinner in town because he has a Thursday night class as well.
So, since the dogs hadn't been walked in several days due to our visitors, I took them out yesterday into the foothills for a few hours. It was my first day off in two weeks and I almost didn't know what to do. I had a laundry list of errands to complete.
Today I had a Spanish I and II classes, levels I was comfortable teaching. I must admit that as much fun as science and social studies are, I still enjoy Foreign languages the most. Although my assignment as a Guest Teacher was to play "Finding Nemo" with Spanish subtitles, most students at the rear of the class could not read the small fonts from the small TV on the wall. If I had had full control of the class I would have played a Spanish movie subtitled in English, preferably a cartoon that had no objectionable material and which many of the students may be familiar with.
And the students were aghast when I actually spoke in Spanish. "Our teacher doesn't speak to us in Spanish and doesn't make us speak it, either." How can you learn a foreign language if you never speak it?!
I can't wait to get a French or German class! This high school teaches both French and German, classes that Bisbee does not offer. This is the primary reason why I decided to work at two districts, so that I can get some training in the areas I majored in in college.
So far all my classes this semester promise to be fascinating and interesing: Native Peoples of the Southwest on Mondays, Intro to Special Education on Wednesdays, and Diversity in the Classroom on Thursdays. All of them are English-intensive courses and I will be doing a lot of writing, research and citing. Next semester I'll take some history and English classes, and perhaps I can squeeze in an Intermediate Spanish class. I could do all that if only the classes start after 4pm.
http://www.azstarnet.com/metro/276171.php
Monday, January 12, 2009
Bisbee night life
The waning full moon had just risen over the eastern mountains as I left campus. It was a minute before 8pm. The red ball rejuvenated me and I couldn't wait to get home. It wasn't easy: I was driving south and the glowing ball was rising to my east.
KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD, CONNIE. How many times has Kevin told me that?
Mike and Bob, our guests for the night, had just arrived when I pulled into the driveway. The drive from San Diego had taken them nearly ten hours. They looked road weary, but were still willing to experience Bisbee. Kevin wanted to take them to all three bars in town. Normally Kevin's in bed by 8pm but tonight he made an exception.
Neither man had a decent winter jacket. They had packed their overcoats in the car. They didn't wear them across the Mohave desert.
We had the heat blasting in the car.
"Man, it gets cold here!" exclaimed Bob. "And the stars in the sky are amazing!"
"Especially when the sky's clear as there are no clouds holding the heat in," I answered.
Kevin drove and I sat in the front seat of his Buick. We both threw out factoids about Arizona to our backseat passengers.
"Ramsey Canyon is the end of the Rocky Mountains and the start of the Sierra Madres" said Kevin. I didn't know that.
"There are 14 rattlesnakes in North America. Arizona has 11 of them." I added. (I had read that off an Arizona Game and Fish poster)
I'm not sure the guys were all that interested in learning about Arizona trivia. And where did Kevin get his information about Ramsey Canyon from anyway?
The highway was dark and the bright lights of Naco and the border stood out. Suddenly Kevin pulled off the road and on the grass-overgrown shoulder.
"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"I gotta pee!"
"Are you crazy? You're going to have the Border Patrol on your ass as soon as you whip open your pants!" Those guys are known to pop out of dark corners at night.
"I hope they enjoy the view then!" I can just imagine a few Border Patrol agents, bored with being stuck monitoring the dark range, watching a man piss in the dark through their night vision goggles and their other high-tech stuff they have. Some of the technology the agents use in our sector is prototype surveillance equipment that has been field tested here in Arizona.
Luckily, nothing happened. We weren't apprehended for behaving suspiciously near the border. Kevin didn't trip any sensors. No Border Patrol came by. Kevin zipped up his jeans, smiled, and got back inside to resume the drive toward Bisbee.
The international border lights were quite bright tonight.
"When we first got here these border lights weren't here...these are all since 9-11." A helicopter was hovering over the border as we drove past Naco.
And then, again out of nowhere, bright lights hit us from behind. What the...? I turned around, ducked to see through the rear window what was behind us. And as expected, it was the floodlights of a helicopter that was speeding toward the border. Whatever type of helicopter that was, it flew quietly and only its floodlights gave itself away.
"Looks like you guys are witnessing an illegal pick-up." All our eyes were transfixed on the border.
We arrived at the Bisbee Grand Hotel just before 9pm. Christmas lights were still strung across Main Street. The drive across the dark roads seemed to take longer than usual because Kevin drove slowly (ie he drove the posted speed limit--45 mph)
The four of us had de facto doubled the clientele when we entered this historic saloon. Business was surprisingly slow tonight and Bert, the bartender (with a ZZTop beard and a long, thin grey ponytail) was happy to finally get some business.
I was the designated driver and only had one beer. Tonight it was Fat Tire Sunshine Wheat. The boys continued drinking Bud Light. Bert gave us popcorn to hold us over as I hadn't had dinner.
I liked Bert. He was a talkative fellow and seemed genuinely happy to have some business with us. And, as usual, I started a conversation with him about what brought him to this neck of the woods, as few people in Arizona are from Arizona.
Originally from Angleton TX (near Houston), you wouldn't know he's a Texan as he has no Drawl. He came to Bisbee with his wife years ago, after she sold her house in TX and he turned his over to his brother still in TX. That marriage didn't work out. "Once we got here she turned cooky on me" Bert explained, and the marriage soon faltered. But he's happy now with a Bisbee woman and lives up the street near the mayor's house.
Bert's been managing the Saloon part of the Grand Hotel for nine years now. He's seen business slack off since 9-11. Before 9-11 Mexicans could easily come across the border for decent night life in town "But all that's changed. Now we never know what it's going to be like. A few days ago I closed the bar at 10pm, we had only five sales all night. I remember when the hotel was booked solid, and now we're happy just to make a few reservations. It's the economy, it's really hurting us hard." This economy has hit all the hotels in the area hard, as tourism is the first thing people cut down on when money gets tight.
I've seen this kind of hardship all along our border, even in Texas, where before 9-11 many Mexicans living in bordertowns would easily cross the Rio Grande on foot (especially west of Big Bend where the river is shallow) to work in towns on the American side. Now all that is impossible with more stringent border protocol. This has practically killed the livelihood of many small Mexican towns along the border.
"But it doesn't matter how bad the economy is," continued Bert, "bars always manage to survive. I remember a bar in my old town...it sucked years ago and it still sucks today but it's still thriving!"
We also got to meet Linda, the owner of the Grand Hotel. She came by briefly to check on things. We chatted with her outside as the "boys" were on their cigarette break. I complimented her on the hotel and how much fun I had here on Christmas Day. Even Kevin seems to have warmed up to this place. Jen, the lady we met yesterday who brought her dog Johnston in, also came by, waved at us, and sat down at the counter with a glass of red wine. A few hours later and three games of pool behind us, we sat back at the counter and chatted with a very intoxicated local guy who had been to a birthday party earlier that evening. A few others came and went. The most Bert had tonight in the bar was nine people.
We never did go to the other bars. I was quite comfortable at the Grand. Bert said the Stock Exchange had closed by 9pm again (he had been talking to the owners of St Elmo's and the Stock Exchange to see how their business was doing and all three bars were very slow tonight.)
Our visitors seemed to have enjoyed a night in the 1906 saloon. Although it was unusually quiet tonight, I appreciated being able to talk to Kevin and the others in a normal voice.
It would be nice to come by the Grand more often, like after a shift at the school, but that will prove difficult as I have classes now Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursday nights and can't drink those nights. But Fridays would be nice as Kevin could join me. Fridays are his early release days. I could use the Grand Hotel Saloon as a sort of Stammtisch, a place to go after work to chat with locals and to develop a sense of community with the Bisbeeites over time. I can't think of a place in Sierra Vista that comes close to being as much fun as Bisbee's Grand Hotel.
"Just call me if you ever want to meet here for beer after work" he said just before we left at 11:40pm for the dark and cold drive back home. I was behind the wheel now.
"And thanks for driving tonight" he added as we got home.
___
Not related website but news from my homestate that's making headlines:
http://www.post-trib.com/1376414,numvscam.article
http://www.post-trib.com/news/1376151,weather.article
KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD, CONNIE. How many times has Kevin told me that?
Mike and Bob, our guests for the night, had just arrived when I pulled into the driveway. The drive from San Diego had taken them nearly ten hours. They looked road weary, but were still willing to experience Bisbee. Kevin wanted to take them to all three bars in town. Normally Kevin's in bed by 8pm but tonight he made an exception.
Neither man had a decent winter jacket. They had packed their overcoats in the car. They didn't wear them across the Mohave desert.
We had the heat blasting in the car.
"Man, it gets cold here!" exclaimed Bob. "And the stars in the sky are amazing!"
"Especially when the sky's clear as there are no clouds holding the heat in," I answered.
Kevin drove and I sat in the front seat of his Buick. We both threw out factoids about Arizona to our backseat passengers.
"Ramsey Canyon is the end of the Rocky Mountains and the start of the Sierra Madres" said Kevin. I didn't know that.
"There are 14 rattlesnakes in North America. Arizona has 11 of them." I added. (I had read that off an Arizona Game and Fish poster)
I'm not sure the guys were all that interested in learning about Arizona trivia. And where did Kevin get his information about Ramsey Canyon from anyway?
The highway was dark and the bright lights of Naco and the border stood out. Suddenly Kevin pulled off the road and on the grass-overgrown shoulder.
"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"I gotta pee!"
"Are you crazy? You're going to have the Border Patrol on your ass as soon as you whip open your pants!" Those guys are known to pop out of dark corners at night.
"I hope they enjoy the view then!" I can just imagine a few Border Patrol agents, bored with being stuck monitoring the dark range, watching a man piss in the dark through their night vision goggles and their other high-tech stuff they have. Some of the technology the agents use in our sector is prototype surveillance equipment that has been field tested here in Arizona.
Luckily, nothing happened. We weren't apprehended for behaving suspiciously near the border. Kevin didn't trip any sensors. No Border Patrol came by. Kevin zipped up his jeans, smiled, and got back inside to resume the drive toward Bisbee.
The international border lights were quite bright tonight.
"When we first got here these border lights weren't here...these are all since 9-11." A helicopter was hovering over the border as we drove past Naco.
And then, again out of nowhere, bright lights hit us from behind. What the...? I turned around, ducked to see through the rear window what was behind us. And as expected, it was the floodlights of a helicopter that was speeding toward the border. Whatever type of helicopter that was, it flew quietly and only its floodlights gave itself away.
"Looks like you guys are witnessing an illegal pick-up." All our eyes were transfixed on the border.
We arrived at the Bisbee Grand Hotel just before 9pm. Christmas lights were still strung across Main Street. The drive across the dark roads seemed to take longer than usual because Kevin drove slowly (ie he drove the posted speed limit--45 mph)
The four of us had de facto doubled the clientele when we entered this historic saloon. Business was surprisingly slow tonight and Bert, the bartender (with a ZZTop beard and a long, thin grey ponytail) was happy to finally get some business.
I was the designated driver and only had one beer. Tonight it was Fat Tire Sunshine Wheat. The boys continued drinking Bud Light. Bert gave us popcorn to hold us over as I hadn't had dinner.
I liked Bert. He was a talkative fellow and seemed genuinely happy to have some business with us. And, as usual, I started a conversation with him about what brought him to this neck of the woods, as few people in Arizona are from Arizona.
Originally from Angleton TX (near Houston), you wouldn't know he's a Texan as he has no Drawl. He came to Bisbee with his wife years ago, after she sold her house in TX and he turned his over to his brother still in TX. That marriage didn't work out. "Once we got here she turned cooky on me" Bert explained, and the marriage soon faltered. But he's happy now with a Bisbee woman and lives up the street near the mayor's house.
Bert's been managing the Saloon part of the Grand Hotel for nine years now. He's seen business slack off since 9-11. Before 9-11 Mexicans could easily come across the border for decent night life in town "But all that's changed. Now we never know what it's going to be like. A few days ago I closed the bar at 10pm, we had only five sales all night. I remember when the hotel was booked solid, and now we're happy just to make a few reservations. It's the economy, it's really hurting us hard." This economy has hit all the hotels in the area hard, as tourism is the first thing people cut down on when money gets tight.
I've seen this kind of hardship all along our border, even in Texas, where before 9-11 many Mexicans living in bordertowns would easily cross the Rio Grande on foot (especially west of Big Bend where the river is shallow) to work in towns on the American side. Now all that is impossible with more stringent border protocol. This has practically killed the livelihood of many small Mexican towns along the border.
"But it doesn't matter how bad the economy is," continued Bert, "bars always manage to survive. I remember a bar in my old town...it sucked years ago and it still sucks today but it's still thriving!"
We also got to meet Linda, the owner of the Grand Hotel. She came by briefly to check on things. We chatted with her outside as the "boys" were on their cigarette break. I complimented her on the hotel and how much fun I had here on Christmas Day. Even Kevin seems to have warmed up to this place. Jen, the lady we met yesterday who brought her dog Johnston in, also came by, waved at us, and sat down at the counter with a glass of red wine. A few hours later and three games of pool behind us, we sat back at the counter and chatted with a very intoxicated local guy who had been to a birthday party earlier that evening. A few others came and went. The most Bert had tonight in the bar was nine people.
We never did go to the other bars. I was quite comfortable at the Grand. Bert said the Stock Exchange had closed by 9pm again (he had been talking to the owners of St Elmo's and the Stock Exchange to see how their business was doing and all three bars were very slow tonight.)
Our visitors seemed to have enjoyed a night in the 1906 saloon. Although it was unusually quiet tonight, I appreciated being able to talk to Kevin and the others in a normal voice.
It would be nice to come by the Grand more often, like after a shift at the school, but that will prove difficult as I have classes now Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursday nights and can't drink those nights. But Fridays would be nice as Kevin could join me. Fridays are his early release days. I could use the Grand Hotel Saloon as a sort of Stammtisch, a place to go after work to chat with locals and to develop a sense of community with the Bisbeeites over time. I can't think of a place in Sierra Vista that comes close to being as much fun as Bisbee's Grand Hotel.
"Just call me if you ever want to meet here for beer after work" he said just before we left at 11:40pm for the dark and cold drive back home. I was behind the wheel now.
"And thanks for driving tonight" he added as we got home.
___
Not related website but news from my homestate that's making headlines:
http://www.post-trib.com/1376414,numvscam.article
http://www.post-trib.com/news/1376151,weather.article
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Birds and Beer
(Today's blog title was Kevin's idea)After our Sunday morning political talk shows we headed out to the Whitewater Draw, a 45-mile drive through Bisbee and across the Sulphur Springs Valley. I wanted to see the sandhill cranes. I got the directions off the internet and found the well-marked wildlife refuge easily: Drive east through Bisbee, continue on Highway 80 at the traffic circle, turn left on Double Adobe Road traveling north toward McNeal until Central Avenue and from here Arizona Game and Fish directional signs guide birders to the eastern platforms along the pond.
A juvenile hawk sat perched on a bullet-holed directional sign on our way to the refuge, seemingly oblivious to us. I photographed the bird from the open window of my truck, inching slowly toward it before the bird showed signs of flying off.
There were more birds at the Whitewater Draw refuge, and many cars to match the birders out there. This was an impressive site: a grassy plain flooded to attract the roosting sandhill cranes and other birds. Signs allowing "Overnight camping" gave me ideas for an overnight trip here...
It was quiet at first as we walked across a wide berm to the middle of the floodplain. Birders were studying the distant geese and cranes in the northern ponds. There wasn't much talking. We saw white snow geese in the middle, swimming closely around each other. In another corner of the pond were other birds, perhaps ducks. American coots, Black Phoebes and various sparrows twittered about.
A lone Bald Eagle sat along the northern edge of the pond watching the waterfowl. One needed binoculars to see the bird. Bald Eagles migrate to southern Arizona and points further south this time of year.
Mesmerized by the various birds floating across the water, I was abruptly interrupted by the unique gawk of sandhill cranes. I recognized that gawk from Texas. At 12:05pm flocks of these birds suddenly flew up from the northern edges of the pond to points further south. More and thicker flocks of these birds flew up from all around us for the next 30 minutes, flying in erratic flocks above us. They circled around far above for a while in no discernible pattern and eventually settled in fields south of the draw . When one flock disappeared, another flock would show up. Sandhill cranes fly in larger flocks than whopping cranes, who prefer smaller family flocks of no more than eight.
Thirty minutes later the midday cacophony was over. Silence resumed except for the twittering of songbirds. The cranes had settled in the fields away from the viewing platforms and birders focused on the Bald Eagle and other birds around us. The Owl Roosting area was void of any activity.
"Where are all the cranes?" asked one newcomer late to the sky show.
"They already flew to the cornfields to our south a few minutes ago...but they'll be back by 4pm."
And Kevin, who kept his binoculars close to his eyes, studied all the birds around the pond. He could see more detail than I could through my Canon.
"What kind of birds are those?" I asked as I pointed at one dark-grey group of floaters.
He smiled at me before responding, with that sarcastic smile I know so well spreading across his face. This was the proverbial I-should-have-known-better-than-to-ask-Kevin smile. In Kevin's birding world there are only three kinds of birds: small, medium and large.
"Those are medium birds!" he fired back. Some help that was!
We stayed at Whitewater Draw for an hour. I could have explored the southern shores a bit more, which basically was a network of trails used by Game and Fish and hunters during the hunting season. The Mule mountains were to our west and high cirrus clouds soared high above us. This was a nice place to sit and enjoy the calls of nature. It was warm enough in the open sun to feel warmth under my fleece.
I stopped several more times on the way home to photograph hawks, falcons and roadrunners along both Coffman and Davis Road. I counted at least nine hawks within a five-mile drive west back toward Highway 80, mostly young hawks perched on the tops of utility poles.
Davis Road came to a T-intersection at Highway 80. The directional sign pointed north toward Tombstone and south toward Bisbee. We had now made a loop around the Mule Mountains.
“Which way do you wanna go?” asked Kevin as we approached this point in the road. He had been a big fan of Tombstone when we first moved to Arizona just to meet the tourists enthralled with reenactors walking the dusty streets of town. Tombstone is a tourist town, but it’s Bisbee that has all the character. With me behind the wheel, I had little problem opting to turn right (south) toward Bisbee.
Highway 80 here is a scenic drive (but then what road in Arizona isn't scenic?). The dry rolling hills between Tombstone and Bisbee open up with a gaping view of the San Pedro Valley and the majestic Huachuca Mountains. The early afternoon sun glistened on several dispersed houses across the valley, prompting shiny spots across the peripheral vision. We were now gaining altitude as we drove toward Bisbee. I turned left on Old Divide Road over Mule Pass to show Kevin the route of travel locals took before the Mule Tunnel was built, and showed him the one small house on West Boulevard that I would have bought if the $229,500 price tag for 886 square feet hadn’t knocked me back to my more practical senses.
I slowed the truck down for him to catch a glance of the remodeled 1908 miner’s hut on the north end of the road.
We stayed at Whitewater Draw for an hour. I could have explored the southern shores a bit more, which basically was a network of trails used by Game and Fish and hunters during the hunting season. The Mule mountains were to our west and high cirrus clouds soared high above us. This was a nice place to sit and enjoy the calls of nature. It was warm enough in the open sun to feel warmth under my fleece.
I stopped several more times on the way home to photograph hawks, falcons and roadrunners along both Coffman and Davis Road. I counted at least nine hawks within a five-mile drive west back toward Highway 80, mostly young hawks perched on the tops of utility poles.
Davis Road came to a T-intersection at Highway 80. The directional sign pointed north toward Tombstone and south toward Bisbee. We had now made a loop around the Mule Mountains.
“Which way do you wanna go?” asked Kevin as we approached this point in the road. He had been a big fan of Tombstone when we first moved to Arizona just to meet the tourists enthralled with reenactors walking the dusty streets of town. Tombstone is a tourist town, but it’s Bisbee that has all the character. With me behind the wheel, I had little problem opting to turn right (south) toward Bisbee.
Highway 80 here is a scenic drive (but then what road in Arizona isn't scenic?). The dry rolling hills between Tombstone and Bisbee open up with a gaping view of the San Pedro Valley and the majestic Huachuca Mountains. The early afternoon sun glistened on several dispersed houses across the valley, prompting shiny spots across the peripheral vision. We were now gaining altitude as we drove toward Bisbee. I turned left on Old Divide Road over Mule Pass to show Kevin the route of travel locals took before the Mule Tunnel was built, and showed him the one small house on West Boulevard that I would have bought if the $229,500 price tag for 886 square feet hadn’t knocked me back to my more practical senses.
I slowed the truck down for him to catch a glance of the remodeled 1908 miner’s hut on the north end of the road.
"How much you guess that's selling for?" I asked as I pointed at the small yellow adobe square house. The mature cottonwood shading the structure looked precariously weak and ready to shed another large branch over the house. The tree alone would be a liability.
"$150,000."
"No, more like $229,500!"
"Holy shit! That's a garage!"
"It’s marketed as a ‘birder’s paradise” I added. That sort of space would be barely large enough for all my “stuff.”
We were now in Old Bisbee.
“You mind stopping at the Grand Hotel for a few beers?” I asked.
“Sure!" Ha, as if asking him for beer would ever elicit a "No!"
And thus we spent two hours having a few micros. I tried a decent Mirror Pond Pale Ale and then a Moose Drool Brown Ale. Laura was our bartender for the afternoon.
“You mind stopping at the Grand Hotel for a few beers?” I asked.
“Sure!" Ha, as if asking him for beer would ever elicit a "No!"
And thus we spent two hours having a few micros. I tried a decent Mirror Pond Pale Ale and then a Moose Drool Brown Ale. Laura was our bartender for the afternoon.
I told her what a great time I had here Christmas Day with the free buffet.
“Oh, that was my idea!” said Laura. “My husband (who also works at the Grand Hotel) and I figured that since we were both working Christmas Day that we might as well cook a full meal and serve it to the guests. That was four years ago and we have been doing that meal every year, Thanksgiving too. It's a very popular event.”
I could tell that Kevin was warming up to this place. The bar was quiet and the only other customers was a local gal, her partner and their nine-year-old Border Collie and Malamute mix named Johnston, who laid quietly on the floor. He seemed to prefer sitting near our stools over those of his owners a few stools down.
Other interesting characters walked in while we were there, all who were welcomed by a cheery greeting by Laura. She knew all the regulars, including a Harley-riding, leather-clad man named “Creature” who I overhead outside admitting to another man during a smoke break outside that he was “tripping on acid.” Creature later on became animated and imitated old Sesame Street scenes with Bert and Ernie and the old Count. Only someone tripping on acid would find something so funny. And what was really ironic was that people like Kevin and me who clearly were not tripping on acid thought he was doing a pretty good job mimicking the old voices of those 1970s characters. (I was a big fan of the purple Count: "One bat ahahahah...two bats...ahahahah...three glorious bats AHAHAHAHAH!")
But like all good things, our time at the Grand Hotel had to come to an end. Kevin wanted to get home early enough to start a mean batch of his chili. His son and cousin are coming over tomorrow night and his chili is a family favorite. I’ll be at my first college class so he’ll have time alone with his son.
“I might go bar hopping with him, starting with the Grand Hotel, then St Elmo’s and then the Stock Exchange Saloon (all bars in Old Bisbee) before we head up to Tombstone” where he's always enjoyed a beer at Big Nose Kate’s. "The last time I was there I met an Englishmen who travels every year to this place." he said.
“Oh, that was my idea!” said Laura. “My husband (who also works at the Grand Hotel) and I figured that since we were both working Christmas Day that we might as well cook a full meal and serve it to the guests. That was four years ago and we have been doing that meal every year, Thanksgiving too. It's a very popular event.”
I could tell that Kevin was warming up to this place. The bar was quiet and the only other customers was a local gal, her partner and their nine-year-old Border Collie and Malamute mix named Johnston, who laid quietly on the floor. He seemed to prefer sitting near our stools over those of his owners a few stools down.
Other interesting characters walked in while we were there, all who were welcomed by a cheery greeting by Laura. She knew all the regulars, including a Harley-riding, leather-clad man named “Creature” who I overhead outside admitting to another man during a smoke break outside that he was “tripping on acid.” Creature later on became animated and imitated old Sesame Street scenes with Bert and Ernie and the old Count. Only someone tripping on acid would find something so funny. And what was really ironic was that people like Kevin and me who clearly were not tripping on acid thought he was doing a pretty good job mimicking the old voices of those 1970s characters. (I was a big fan of the purple Count: "One bat ahahahah...two bats...ahahahah...three glorious bats AHAHAHAHAH!")
But like all good things, our time at the Grand Hotel had to come to an end. Kevin wanted to get home early enough to start a mean batch of his chili. His son and cousin are coming over tomorrow night and his chili is a family favorite. I’ll be at my first college class so he’ll have time alone with his son.
“I might go bar hopping with him, starting with the Grand Hotel, then St Elmo’s and then the Stock Exchange Saloon (all bars in Old Bisbee) before we head up to Tombstone” where he's always enjoyed a beer at Big Nose Kate’s. "The last time I was there I met an Englishmen who travels every year to this place." he said.
Like Kevin said, today was "Just another day in Arizona." No two days are ever the same, and tonight's full moon rise was just another example. This months' full moon will be the largest full moon all year.
http://www.azgfd.gov/outdoor_recreation/wildlife_area_whitewater.shtml
http://whitewaterdraw.org/
http://www.sabo.org/birding/chirsulp.htm#wdwa
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2008/01/27/news/doc479c2fb805f5f601176961.txt
http://www.douglasdispatch.com/articles/2007/12/28/news/doc47755f26d3d3f866767360.txt
The following are just websites to current news of the day and have nothing to do with Whitewater:
http://www.indystar.com/article/20090112/OPINION08/901120317/1291/OPINION08
http://www.post-trib.com/news/1372558,construction.article
http://www.post-trib.com/news/1372047,ropweather.article
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2009/01/12/news/breaking_news/doc496ade5e02558350334596.txt
http://whitewaterdraw.org/
http://www.sabo.org/birding/chirsulp.htm#wdwa
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2008/01/27/news/doc479c2fb805f5f601176961.txt
http://www.douglasdispatch.com/articles/2007/12/28/news/doc47755f26d3d3f866767360.txt
The following are just websites to current news of the day and have nothing to do with Whitewater:
http://www.indystar.com/article/20090112/OPINION08/901120317/1291/OPINION08
http://www.post-trib.com/news/1372558,construction.article
http://www.post-trib.com/news/1372047,ropweather.article
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2009/01/12/news/breaking_news/doc496ade5e02558350334596.txt
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