All Entries Tagged With: "Rockies"

TWO UTES FISHING

It was one of those classic Rocky Mountain mornings in the early 1700s. It was a time that would be captured on some future picture post card that would be mailed back East or to Europe summoning the hordes, luring the White man West, defining someone’s concept of civilization. It was one of those cool, crisp spring mornings where fish leaped skyward and the forests teemed with game. It was quiet.
Two Ute braves, Crooked Sky and Curious Eagle sat contentedly at the confluence of the mighty Yampa River and its overachiever cousin, Mad Creek. They were dug bait and carried long poles fashioned from the limbs of a less than enthused quakie which had the unfortunate luck to be rooted on a nearby bank. They harvested fish like their brother the Grizzly but with a few human amenities. That evening hundreds of trout engage in a feeding frenzy oblivious to the uninvited dinner guests who stalk them.
“There, the big ones hang back by the bank hoping to elude predators like us,” started Crooked Sky. “Caste out farther and you will distract them with a grasshopper. T”hose fish can’t resist a fresh grasshopper.”
“They are far too well fed to be snapped up,” said Curious Eagle. “It’s as if elk munch on the grass beneath my lodge or drink the water hauled by my wives.”
Both braves sit quite still, staring into the water. If the fish do not bite this morning there is always tomorrow. Many pounds of berries are still stored away and there is enough buffalo jerky to last well into the fall. The two anglers are simply more interested in trying out their new poles than in catching a fish.
“It was that big-nosed Pawnee that showed us how to fashion the pole,” laughed Curious Eagle. “He could finish the job and hook a fish for us at least! I did not like him much and after he had gone I noticed that I was missing my lucky arrowhead that I had carried for many years.”
“Maybe his magic is only in design,” said Crooked Sky. “He was a strange one, especially considering his stories of the square house builders from across the great water,” frowned Curious Eagle. “He says the whites shoot game for sport. He says they crop their hair and wear too many clothes, especially the women, even in the summer. This can not be true. Why would someone do that?”
“If this is true then they appear to be a very unhappy people,” Curious Eagle mused. “I just hope they are content to stay where they are. Our hunting lands have no need of their footprints. These whites, if they really exist, appear to be bad medicine. They have little honor,” he continued, “and are said to cut down the forests, bleed the rivers, trap animals for money and pierce the skin of our mother, the earth.”
“I think that Pawnee was pulling our leggins, either that or he’s smoking too much kinick-kinick,” stressed Crooked Sky. “Why would these whites come here? What is here for them? How could they ever get here? The mountains will protect us from these devils just as they have protected us from the Cheyenne and the Arapaho .”
“The Pawnee insists black-haired whites in armor have already stirred up trouble throughout the land of the Bannock, the Shoshone and the Navajo,” said Curious Eagle. “It is only a matter of time before they come over these mountains. He says they seek the yellow rock and dig for other treasures. I have seen such rock,” he added. “They also carry idols on crosses and diseases.”
Crooked Sky then smiled and told his friend not to worry.
“I thought we came here to fish,” he said.

********

One hundred years later, lodged in a small clearing in the shadow of Gore Pass are mountain men William Sublette, Jim Bridger, Thomas Fitzpatrick and John Colter. While waiting for the arrival of compatriots Old Bill Williams and Jedediah Smith they have become distracted by a large jug of corn whiskey which serves as a spirituous campfire. The fur trade is at its height and it was rendezvous time in the Rockies.
“Where the hell are the Utes?” asked Bridger as he spat a wad of chew from somewhere behind his long, shanty beard.
“They don’t like to show up too early,” answered Sublette. “They always get into a fight with the other tribes. Those guys are spooky but they aren’t much at haggling. Last year over on the Green River I traded them three broken down horses for a slew of beaver pelts. Then a few of them got mad and wanted their pelts back,” he said. “I had to whip three of them just to get back to my camp!”
The group looks up to observe the arrival of about twenty Sioux warriors loaded down with an assortment of furs and provisions for at least a month. The contingent carefully picked its way down a steep ledge and meandered into the clearing.
“They’re watching us,” whispered Colter, “out of the corner of their eyes. Warriors watch that way. They never look straight at anything, be it game, horses or adversaries. That’s the best way to deal with women too,” he laughed.”These Lakota are masters at life.”
“Here comes Old Bill and that sawed off Kit Carson,” said Sublette. “That bastard Carson is all dressed up in his soldier outfit. He thinks he runs these mountains. What a clown.”
“Where is Jedediah?” asks Bridger. “He hasn’t missed a rendezvous in years.”
“I hear he’s having trouble with his Cheyenne squaw,” explains Sublette. “She wants him to give up his wandering and stay closer to home. I think he’s getting old.”
“That’s why I change squaws every year whether I need to or not,” smiled Bridger. “It keeps life more exciting. The last thing I need in the summer is some squaw on my ass. I had this woman in St. Louis who was crazy about me but…”
“We’ve heard it all before, Jim,” sneered Fitzpatrick. “Tell us something new.”
“I’ll tell you something new,” offered Sublette. “When I was in St. Joseph last spring I saw at least 20 wagon trains packing up and headed our way. It’s gonna get tougher to stay out of the way of progress,” he added. Pretty soon we’ll have to go back to Europe, since they’ll all be over here..”
“From what I can tell the fur business has peaked anyway,” said Fitzpatrick. “Silk hats will soon be in vogue in Paris and London and the dirt farmers are cutting down the forests and chasing the game north to the Tetons anyway.”
Carson and Williams arrive at the campsite and exchange greetings with the other trappers. Williams appears already quite drunk and his mumbling something about city folk. Carson begins a cavalier monologue that describes the situation on the plains.
“On the other side of the Missouri the roads are packed with Conestogas and pilgrims from the east,” he said. “Sooner or later they’ll arrive here and ruin it for the rest of us.”
“So what!” mimics Colter. “We’ll all be six foot under by then. The sod busters can have the place if they want it. Just let them try to grow anything worth eating, the fools!”
“You’re all nuts,” says Fitzpatrick waving his arms in rebuttal. “This country is too severe for those pansies. They haven’t got what it takes to survive these winters or get along with the Indians. They’d starve after a month.”
“Don’t be so sure of that, Tom,” says Carson. “You haven’t been back east for a decade. Those folks have their eye on land, my friend, and will continue to come West until the entire frontier is harnessed and plowed under.”
“Different kind of folks, ain’t they,” quipped Sublette. “Once they find what they think they’re looking for they do everything they can to change it back to what they left behind. Quit hoggin’ that jug, Bill.

*******

Three tired coal miners have just completed their respective shifts and are sitting in a small bar on Lincoln Avenue in downtown Steamboat Springs. It is September of 1939 and they are preoccupied with developments in Europe. The Germans have invaded Poland and the Japanese, who have already colonized Manchuria and carved up China, are on the move in the Pacific. The nations of the world are choosing up sides and the much-feared conflict is on. Being of draft age the three are concerned with a lot more than the war’s affect on the price of coal.
“We’ve had it pretty easy here, compared to a lot of those people in Europe,” said one miner, a red-headed man named Jim Noyce, whose uncle was killed at Belleau Wood in 1917. “This valley is only for those who call it home. The rest of the madmen don’t even know we exist, and I like it that way.”
“I hear there are about 200 miners moving here as part of mobilization and the war effort,” offered a second man, named Milo Kopcek who voiced concern over relatives still living in Moravia. “I see this war spreading all across the globe. The coal companies have already announced plans to strip mine that country west of Oak Creek and down into Twenty Mile Park. We could be in for the long haul,” he frowned.
“And some of them are even talking about skiing,” said a third miner, a tall, thin Swede who had lost his small ranch near Phippsburg during the those bad times they call The Great Depression. “Not just skiing to get around, mind you, but skiing for recreation. It’s big in Europe and they say we have much better snow than the Alps.”
“That’s crazy,” said Noyce. “Who in their right mind would travel all the way to this valley to ski down a hill or two? I think these skier types will all be back in Denver by spring. This is a mining town and that’s all it will ever be,” he added. “Take it or leave it but you’ll never change it.”
*********

Brightly clothed figures stack firewood outside an abandoned shack near where Mad Creek meets the Yampa. Although they look ragged they take pride in the fact that they are surviving off the land with an occasional subsidy from a worried parent back east. It looks like snow.
“Steamboat is the ultimate rejection of the urban experience,” said one long-haired man in his early twenties. “The world won’t find us here. Just look at the dilapidated shacks, the grimy dirt streets and the brutally cold weather.”
It was 1968 and another war was raging, this time in Southeast Asia. These were the children of the Fifties that had begun to descend on Steamboat Springs, and the Rockies in general. They had arrived with a few belongings crammed into micro buses and Jeeps, Walden Pound imprinted securely in their psyche. They were mesmerized by the mountains and quickly engaged in systematic squatting despite the grumbles of longtime residents who saw them as an annoyance.
“It takes a certain kind of person to live in the mountains,” added a young girl who appeared to be stuck in her teens. “But we must preserve this beautiful place. I’m worried about people coming here and ruining it for those of us that are already here,” she sighed. “When I was in Denver for the Dylan concert last weekend I heard lots of people talking about establishing a large commune up Quarry Mountain.”
“So what,” snapped a beaded, bearded man who tried to look like John Lennon. “As long as they are hip they should be welcomed. We need people who think like us in this valley if we are to take control of our destiny here,” he explained. “Things must first change in the Rockies before they will change on the rest of the planet.”
“How many more?” asked the first man. “How many more before the place turns into another circus?”
“That’s an absurd question,” answered the bearded man. “There’s plenty of room here for everyone if we live right and work together for the common good.”
“Right on!” shouted the teenage girl. “Together we can build a utopia where everyone has enough to eat, enough dope to smoke and a house to live in. Sooner or later even the old timers will come around.”
“The key is to encourage a society right here where greed is given no quarter,” said the first man. “If we are committed we will reap the harvest of peace and harmony for all. It is attainable here, far away from the insanity. Just look at the river. It hasn’t changed since the Indians first fished it,” he stressed. “Our future is only as bright as we will allow it to be.”
“It is our future,” said the girl. “We can carve a perfect society, like the Indians had, out of the wilderness. Look,” she chirped, “I found an arrowhead!”
*****

Just a stone’s throw away sit the ghosts of Crooked Sky and Curious Eagle. Both just shake their heads.
“These whites are as silly as the first ones who came here centuries ago,” said Crooked Sky. “They still think they are the first to discover this valley and they still think everything is oh so pristine. They will learn like those before them,” he added.
“Hey, I think that young maiden found my lucky arrowhead,” said Spread Eagle. “I lost it fishing right here a long time ago.”
– Kashmir Horseshoe

WHAT I’VE FOUND OUT

(September 18, 2015  —  Western Colorado Out in the Forest)

A little bit of jerkwater wisdom, with a shared bath down the hall

It’s better to be born rich than stupid but if the two elements share the main stage the money will surely serve as a great comfort.

Airline food was inspired by hospital food which was itself inspired by train food. Train food first found its inspiration in K-rations. K-Rations…kibble. There is no set cuisine for bus travel.

All Italians want you to think they drive Alpha Romeos and wear $500 sun glasses.

Commenting that the queen of Thailand is “a bit chubby” will upset most Thais and could get you deported.

The drinking community has been decimated by the number of DUIs issued since 1990.

The chances of winning a state lottery are about the same as being struck twice by lightening in a gold mine.

Punctuality is in the eyes of the beholder.

If Iraq held democratic elections today it would be a fundamentalist Muslim state tomorrow.

I’d rather run into a black bear in an alley than a skunk.

The Greek gods and goddesses had it pretty darn good.

It is physically impossible to fill all the handicapped parking spaces in Colorado at one time.

Due to chronic globalization beach ants won’t eat sticky rice on the Andaman island of Ko Lipe.

When the owner of a new SUV spends his evenings delivering pizzas the economy is in for a ride. My other car is a Schwinn.

Ordering the fish special right there on the Mekong River (in front of the fish) is not considered the least bit rude by Laos.

If UN weapons inspectors tried to ply their trade in the US they would get a similar reception as the one in Iran.

Biscuits and Gravy are never mentioned in the Old Testament and, in fact, the dish has Muslim roots. When served beside grits, however, the plate automatically changes its venue to Mississippi.

Elk and bear droppings, while messy, are not a threat to national security at this time. There be a Color Brown alert if the situation worsens?

The United States gov’ment has enough nuclear warheads to hit every square inch of the planet 230 times before anyone has finished his lunch.

It’s really difficult for white men to come to grips with the changes that are right there in front of them. Different status. Groups joining the economy that were once complete underlings.

Dogs are not particularly loyal to other dogs.

Its difficult to make the car payment at a poker table but it sure beats worrying about it.

The best time to embrace adulthood is from 14 -16.

In golf, the value or skill in putting has little to do with stroke, greens or breaks. It has everything to do with putting the little ball into the little hole.

Terrorist is a convenient term that can be applied to corporate murderers as well as murderers motivated by twisted religious interpretations.
– Gabby Haze

Heads of Lettuce Score Well in Standardized Testing

(Denver – Green Garden-Grade Gazette – September 15, 2015)

Many varieties of lettuce continue to do well on standardized tests given by public schools all over the country and in Grand Junction. Chief indicators, aptitude and achievement tests, saw a marked rise in scores for Leaf and Butterhead lettuce, while Iceberg and Romaine strains did quite well in aptitude exams but finished lower in general achievement assessments.
Cabbage, measured by a completely different yardstick, fell somewhere in the middle range after data was analyzed. Evaluations of cabbage, as well as other prominent salad items, will be released Tuesday. Graphs, developed to determine if farmers deserve tenure or dismissal, suggest that the lettuce is coming in higher than 45% of the students undergoing standard exams.
The relentless pressure, to prove educational effectiveness in the classroom, caused many varieties of lettuce to prematurely wilt in the math and science segments. Red leaf and Oak Leaf fall into this category. Although tastier, these fluffier, often nuttier types are considered to be less intelligent and damned to the workaday world by educators. In short, they don’t test well.
Older cabbages did better than younger ones while shelf lives of Romaine and Butterhead could not compare to the performance of Iceberg in the crunch.
“Whether these tests chronicle knowledge gained over a period of time or are simply another whitewash job by your benevolent and federal gov’ment is up in the air,” said an originator of the California Achievement Tests.
The CAT, along with the Iowa Test of Basic Skills and the Metropolitan Achievement Tests make up the meat of the standardized testing administered today in our schools.
Calling the improvements a triumph for all vegetables the test maker called for more opportunities and options for students finishing toward the bottom of the grade scale.
“We’ve got to stop fooling ourselves and direct non-academic students into other functional and fulfilling fields,” he stressed. “These tests were never intended to uplift some and cast others into the cauldron of failure. We don’t project success in life with such a rigid schematic. Why do the schools?” – Rickie Recesse

Gothic Town Hall in High Summer

It’s business as usual in Gothic, Colorado

Broncos to Play 2015 Season Without Balls

(Fumble Flats — Someday Soon Press — September 20, 2015)

The NFL Denver Broncos will take on seasonal opponents without Balls having waved Monte Ball this year and Lance Ball in 2010. The first Ball, from Wisconsin, was a high draft choice that didn’t work out while the second Ball, from Maryland, was signed as a free agent in 2010 and waved soon after.

Both spent quite a bit of time on the practice squad and consistently dropped in the depth chart until the separation became academic.

There is no benefit reading to this article in that it is simply a cheap attempt to play on words and names of players so as to create an attention-getting headline. This sequence would not even get past proofreaders at the high school level.

No further information was available as to the whereabouts of either athlete at press time. We wish them success.

Seguridad Corpse Ofrecidos

Gunnison County Weed Eaters Anonymous – 16 de septiembre 2015

El oficialmente reconocidos, patentados y con jurado 2015 Curso de Seguridad de cortacéspedes se ofrecerá de nuevo este otoño a las personas que han dominado el plan de estudios preliminares verano. Programa de este año se centra en gran medida en la adaptación del sistema métrico y su aplicación a los enfoques más convencionales para el recorte.
La adhesión a s sencillo procedimiento paso a paso se traducirá en un menor número de accidentes con las palas del rotor y la insolación al acecho de acuerdo con autores intelectuales asociados con el proyecto.
Las personas nacidas después de marzo 1949 deben tomar este curso si tienen la intención de cortar el césped en el otoño. Se insta a los Otros, nacidos antes de inscribirse para las 400 horas de clases de los sábados, con el fin de permanecer en la cima de la evolución más reciente.
“Ofrecemos un montón de consejos para la seguridad del cortacésped, así como consejos de información privilegiada en el control de malezas y las técnicas de fertilización”, dijo el miembro de la junta Charlene Gascanne, entre las reuniones.
El costo de las clases es de $ 400 (compartimento cama un poco más) razonable y debe ser pagado por adelantado. Personas capturados siega (o comer malezas sin la debida certificación se rendirán privilegios césped y pueden enfrentarse a multas y penas de prisión -. Koko Nucla