my most favorite thirteen words:
"do you suppose we could continue today's conversation over a glass of wine...?"
sally - to me, when it all started....
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Saturday, April 21, 2012
the big five
i have arranged them in order - from least to most dangerous, based on my experience.
black rhino - dumb and blind. also, not able to absorb much punishment bullet wise. i was charged several times, usually in thick bush, and, after the first time, avoided the rush quite easily. perhaps the dumbest of all charged our hunting car and pressed on even as we backed quickly away. sadly, this prehistoric monster has been poached almost to extinction and no longer enlivens a hunt for other game. we did not pursue them.
elephant - magnificent, electrifying to hunt and family oriented. also extremely intelligent and as a result more interested in making its escape than confronting. however, very dangerous if wounded because of its great strength, toughness, and cleverness.
leopard - far and away my favorite beast. one of the few truly cruel animals - like the weasel and ratel - which will sometimes kill just for pleasure. an extraordinarily wild and fearsome sight when it appears, as if by magic, on the limb below your bait. fast and violent to the extreme if wounded...absolutely will charge its tormentors - always from nearby...impossible to see in heavy cover because of its perfectly camouflaged coat. a very worthy adversary.
cape buffalo - wounded it is the hunter's worst nightmare for, when followed up, it will often let its stalkers pass by and attack from behind. very difficult to kill once its adrenaline is flowing and extremely vengeful. will press its charge even when hit many times by heavy bullets.
lion - by far the strongest and fastest animal of its size in the group [it can and often does kill cape buffalo - though mostly the old and infirm], and thinks nothing of jumping into a native corral to kill a cow then jumping back out with the dead animal in its jaws. a charging, lightly wounded lion is a true force of nature. it can cover a hundred yards in five seconds or so, bounding through the long grass, or close to the ground on open plain. be damn sure you brain it or its final leap - as much as thirty feet - will be fatal in the mauling you receive. a lion's hunting roar in the darkest hours of an african night is a sound you will never forget.
black rhino - dumb and blind. also, not able to absorb much punishment bullet wise. i was charged several times, usually in thick bush, and, after the first time, avoided the rush quite easily. perhaps the dumbest of all charged our hunting car and pressed on even as we backed quickly away. sadly, this prehistoric monster has been poached almost to extinction and no longer enlivens a hunt for other game. we did not pursue them.
elephant - magnificent, electrifying to hunt and family oriented. also extremely intelligent and as a result more interested in making its escape than confronting. however, very dangerous if wounded because of its great strength, toughness, and cleverness.
leopard - far and away my favorite beast. one of the few truly cruel animals - like the weasel and ratel - which will sometimes kill just for pleasure. an extraordinarily wild and fearsome sight when it appears, as if by magic, on the limb below your bait. fast and violent to the extreme if wounded...absolutely will charge its tormentors - always from nearby...impossible to see in heavy cover because of its perfectly camouflaged coat. a very worthy adversary.
cape buffalo - wounded it is the hunter's worst nightmare for, when followed up, it will often let its stalkers pass by and attack from behind. very difficult to kill once its adrenaline is flowing and extremely vengeful. will press its charge even when hit many times by heavy bullets.
lion - by far the strongest and fastest animal of its size in the group [it can and often does kill cape buffalo - though mostly the old and infirm], and thinks nothing of jumping into a native corral to kill a cow then jumping back out with the dead animal in its jaws. a charging, lightly wounded lion is a true force of nature. it can cover a hundred yards in five seconds or so, bounding through the long grass, or close to the ground on open plain. be damn sure you brain it or its final leap - as much as thirty feet - will be fatal in the mauling you receive. a lion's hunting roar in the darkest hours of an african night is a sound you will never forget.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Sunday, April 1, 2012
1605 metres
that's right...just under a mile, how high mount katahdin, in maine north of millinocket, stands. i've been to its apex, baxter peak, five times - aged ten to fourteen, trips exceeded in excitement only by my african safari in 1971.
at camp baldy we "trained" for the big climb by running out to the bog and back - about a mile - [in those days you could walk out the back door of camp and not cross a road until you hit the canadian border, about 70 miles] carrying old army backpacks filled, sometimes with stones, mostly with just blankets and messkits.
katahdin itself was hidden beyond the foothills when we arrived by car at the roaring brook ranger's station some miles north of millinocket and the starting point for our three mile climb to chimney pond. it was from that camp we'd begin our ascent of the mountain.
chimney pond, a crystal clear, circular mountain tarn, lay at the base of the "chimney" an ascent to baxter peak which only - it was alleged - experienced, well equipped mountain climbers could master. at age ten, looking up from the rocky shore i was convinced of that truth and shivered slightly at the thought of all those ropes and pitons and picks and rock axes it would take to get to the top. but, not to worry, there were easier ways.
first we had to establish our campsite.
the hike from the roaring brook base was mostly uphill over three ridges, broken only by a stop at long pond where some previous traveler - or ranger - had hung a tin cup on a nail in a post so that we could quench our thirst. [can you imagine doing that today...water straight from the pond.] the chimney pond camp consisted of one bunk house, which we ignored, and several leantos, one of which we chose. i'm sure there were latrines but i don't recall, my memory being selective.
besides the "chimney" there were three approaches to the peak - the saddle trail, easiest but longest - the cathedral trail, marked by three thousand-odd foot "cathedrals" or steps - and the dudley trail, off which there was a cave said to be a holy place by the local indians. we used the first two as approaches and the last for our descents. the saddle and cathedral ended on a wide mountain plateau which led to baxter peak. from there to the beginning of the dudley one had to cross the half mile " knife edge" a narrow trail skirting the chimney wall on the left and a vast, steep field of mountain scree on the right.
man, this was exciting stuff for a ten year old kid.
we fairly ran up and down the mountain for the next two days wearing shorts and t-shirts, stumbling around in our new l.l. bean moccasins, flannel shirts tied around our waists. nobody fell off any of the imposing cathedrals, we did cartwheels [much to our counselors horror] on knife edge, and clambered down dudley without stirring up any of the ancient storm gods of indian legend. and nobody, but nobody, wore a helmet, knee pads, gloves, or a bullet proof vest.
no camper was ever injured - and i did it five times. oh, and there were girls along, too.
at camp baldy we "trained" for the big climb by running out to the bog and back - about a mile - [in those days you could walk out the back door of camp and not cross a road until you hit the canadian border, about 70 miles] carrying old army backpacks filled, sometimes with stones, mostly with just blankets and messkits.
katahdin itself was hidden beyond the foothills when we arrived by car at the roaring brook ranger's station some miles north of millinocket and the starting point for our three mile climb to chimney pond. it was from that camp we'd begin our ascent of the mountain.
chimney pond, a crystal clear, circular mountain tarn, lay at the base of the "chimney" an ascent to baxter peak which only - it was alleged - experienced, well equipped mountain climbers could master. at age ten, looking up from the rocky shore i was convinced of that truth and shivered slightly at the thought of all those ropes and pitons and picks and rock axes it would take to get to the top. but, not to worry, there were easier ways.
first we had to establish our campsite.
the hike from the roaring brook base was mostly uphill over three ridges, broken only by a stop at long pond where some previous traveler - or ranger - had hung a tin cup on a nail in a post so that we could quench our thirst. [can you imagine doing that today...water straight from the pond.] the chimney pond camp consisted of one bunk house, which we ignored, and several leantos, one of which we chose. i'm sure there were latrines but i don't recall, my memory being selective.
besides the "chimney" there were three approaches to the peak - the saddle trail, easiest but longest - the cathedral trail, marked by three thousand-odd foot "cathedrals" or steps - and the dudley trail, off which there was a cave said to be a holy place by the local indians. we used the first two as approaches and the last for our descents. the saddle and cathedral ended on a wide mountain plateau which led to baxter peak. from there to the beginning of the dudley one had to cross the half mile " knife edge" a narrow trail skirting the chimney wall on the left and a vast, steep field of mountain scree on the right.
man, this was exciting stuff for a ten year old kid.
we fairly ran up and down the mountain for the next two days wearing shorts and t-shirts, stumbling around in our new l.l. bean moccasins, flannel shirts tied around our waists. nobody fell off any of the imposing cathedrals, we did cartwheels [much to our counselors horror] on knife edge, and clambered down dudley without stirring up any of the ancient storm gods of indian legend. and nobody, but nobody, wore a helmet, knee pads, gloves, or a bullet proof vest.
no camper was ever injured - and i did it five times. oh, and there were girls along, too.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
a thought for today
i'm sure someone said this before but that noted hip-hopper 50 cent repeated it today.
"i don''t have a gambling problem...people who lose have a gambling problem."
"i don''t have a gambling problem...people who lose have a gambling problem."
Monday, March 26, 2012
loss
i lost a great friend the other day....
because the family is so private about burial services i wasn't allowed at the grave site. this is how i will grieve.
i knew moe for fifty-three years...almost a lifetime by most reckoning. she was nearly a mother to me - congratulating me when i did right and raising hell when i did wrong. she taught me to love family - i had none to speak of - and when her husband, booby, tried to shake me off she interceded on my behalf. she embraced me at life's every turn...even as she lay dying she asked for my grandchildren.
i will never forget you moe...acid tongue, drinks at the beach, shooting at longlands, always love and affection, lessons in life, life itself. bless you and goodnight. love forever....
because the family is so private about burial services i wasn't allowed at the grave site. this is how i will grieve.
i knew moe for fifty-three years...almost a lifetime by most reckoning. she was nearly a mother to me - congratulating me when i did right and raising hell when i did wrong. she taught me to love family - i had none to speak of - and when her husband, booby, tried to shake me off she interceded on my behalf. she embraced me at life's every turn...even as she lay dying she asked for my grandchildren.
i will never forget you moe...acid tongue, drinks at the beach, shooting at longlands, always love and affection, lessons in life, life itself. bless you and goodnight. love forever....
Sunday, March 25, 2012
camp baldy
ellen [baldy] baldwin was the tower hill school girls' field hockey coach back in the fifties. she also had a kids' summer camp [named camp baldy] located on chemo pond just outside of bangor, maine which i attended, for six years, ages nine to fourteen [i was caught smoking in my last year and not asked back].
i loved it - who wouldn't. eight weeks in the cool of a maine summer - as opposed to wilmington's ghastly heat and humidity - plus, half of the campers were girls and we got to fish and climb mountains.
fewer than thirty of us, plus counselors, made the trip from wilmington to bangor - making the mad dash to our connecting train from south station to north station in boston. at arrival we were ferried across the lake in small groups only to collapse into bunk beds, exhausted from our long trip.
baldy was a clever child psychologist - giving us each just enough rope that we didn't hang ourselves, or her. for example, she let me "teach" the young campers [we ranged in age from eight to fifteen] how to properly row a boat and paddle a canoe - also to dock them...something which at age twelve made me feel incredibly accomplished. also, we "qualified" to go on a five day trip to climb mount katahdin, then very remote and something kids as young as ten would never be allowed to do today without a helmet and kneepads. the most fun thing i was able to do when i got a little older was to row one of the boats across the lake and fish for bass in a special spot i had discovered, while everyone else had to take his or her afternoon nap. talk about a good way to diffuse excess adolescent energy - the rowing i mean.
to further boost our young egos our names were painted on the walls of the dining hall - grouped under our first year of attendance. a star marked each additional year.
many years later, as an adult and long after baldy was gone i went to bangor to visit an old down on his luck camper friend. i persuaded him to drive us out to chemo pond - now completely surrounded by mobile homes. we approached the camp by a modern, hard topped road and parked at the back kitchen door. he told me that the place had been sold to the bangor girl scouts. we broke in, easily jimmying the door, but only went as far as the dining hall where - i am sure much to the confusion of the girls - our names still graced the walls.
i was proud to see mine - with four stars next to it.
i loved it - who wouldn't. eight weeks in the cool of a maine summer - as opposed to wilmington's ghastly heat and humidity - plus, half of the campers were girls and we got to fish and climb mountains.
fewer than thirty of us, plus counselors, made the trip from wilmington to bangor - making the mad dash to our connecting train from south station to north station in boston. at arrival we were ferried across the lake in small groups only to collapse into bunk beds, exhausted from our long trip.
baldy was a clever child psychologist - giving us each just enough rope that we didn't hang ourselves, or her. for example, she let me "teach" the young campers [we ranged in age from eight to fifteen] how to properly row a boat and paddle a canoe - also to dock them...something which at age twelve made me feel incredibly accomplished. also, we "qualified" to go on a five day trip to climb mount katahdin, then very remote and something kids as young as ten would never be allowed to do today without a helmet and kneepads. the most fun thing i was able to do when i got a little older was to row one of the boats across the lake and fish for bass in a special spot i had discovered, while everyone else had to take his or her afternoon nap. talk about a good way to diffuse excess adolescent energy - the rowing i mean.
to further boost our young egos our names were painted on the walls of the dining hall - grouped under our first year of attendance. a star marked each additional year.
many years later, as an adult and long after baldy was gone i went to bangor to visit an old down on his luck camper friend. i persuaded him to drive us out to chemo pond - now completely surrounded by mobile homes. we approached the camp by a modern, hard topped road and parked at the back kitchen door. he told me that the place had been sold to the bangor girl scouts. we broke in, easily jimmying the door, but only went as far as the dining hall where - i am sure much to the confusion of the girls - our names still graced the walls.
i was proud to see mine - with four stars next to it.
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