BIll's Big Adventure

Bill’s Big Adventure

Welcome to summer and June 21, the longest day of the year. At this time of year, in our neck of the woods, sundown occurs around 10 PM so there is plenty of time for outdoor adventures including a recent one that I want to tell you about. This adventure was actually a little delayed since our spring has been generally cool, not conducive to water sports. And so it was only yesterday that I engaged in an activity that became a big adventure.

Before I jump into my story, I need to provide you with context; background info that may color your understanding and impact of what I am about to relate. Hang on for just a moment as I explain:

Many years ago wife Marjorie and I became proud parents of three boys. We were determined they should learn the ways of nature and could socialize with other boys and adults and so we urged them to join Boy Scouts. One thing led to another and I ultimately became one of the leaders and then Scoutmaster for two years. Our troop focused on camping, something I had never done in my early years, including week-long Hi Adventure Trips as we termed them. One of the first Hi Adventure Trips I recall was a one-week canoe trek through Canada’s giant Algonquin park. To my delight, the trip was a hoot and I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the wilderness. Many trips like the first one followed and my three sons ultimately became Eagle Scouts both with and without my participation in any number of camping and canoeing trips.

After the boys grew up and left home, I talked my wife Marjorie into wilderness camping both as hiking and canoeing adventures. The two of us spent many vacations in the woods following the pathways that our sons had traveled. Most occurred without incident and we enjoyed them enough that they became a regular habit. Now, fast forward 50-some years.

We live along the famous Au Sable River and we have canoed the stream many times during our retirement years. I decided to go for a canoe ride yesterday, my first of the young warm weather season. Marjorie wasn’t interested in going so I decided to attach my 5-horsepower outboard motor to the squared end of the canoe since it makes it much easier for one person to maneuver the canoe around the many bends in the river. It also destroys the balance of the canoe with all the weight at one end, but I didn’t consider that as I was excited about my first trip of the year.

I found the river was low when I arrived at the shoreline with the motor in hand. No matter, I thought. We hadn’t any rain for several days, accounting for the river being two feet below the shoreline. I decided to push the canoe to the edge of the bank and then affix the motor while the end of the boat was suspended above the river. Not without effort, I slogged through the two-foot high grass to the river’s edge and tightened the screws holding the motor in place. “Now, all I need do is gently push the boat into the water with the heavy end first while leaving the bow on shore so that I can climb in,” I thought silently … since I am not yet admitting that I talk to myself.

I found that the boat had gained considerable weight since I had last used it. It took a mighty push to nudge the boat toward the river as the grass seemed to be securely holding onto the boat . I stepped back to judge my progress. The boat had moved approximately two inches. “Just 16 more feet, 10 inches to go,” I said aloud this time. After considerably more effort, finally, the motor dipped into the water making the push slightly easier. I stopped for a breath and again assessed the progress. Since the boat was now mostly below me with only the bow setting on the shore, almost ½ the boat was suspended in air with only the motor and a small part of the boat in the water.

I gingerly stepped into the boat. With my considerable canoeing experience, I knew that the secret for staying upright in a jiggly canoe is to stay low. With a paddle in hand, I stepped into the bow of the boat that was still resting on the shore. So far so good, I breathed aloud as I bent at the waist and took a tiny step toward the rear of the boat. The first reinforcing bar that attached to the gunwales was facing me. I had to step over it and then turn around while maintaining my balance. Slowly now. I made the turn while still bent over. Now I’ll crouch further down and use the paddle to push the boat off the shoreline and into the water.

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you that the prior owner of my plot of land had illegally dredged the river at my access point to make a hole for improved fishing. The river is generally one to three feet deep except at my access point where the line from a fishing pole will extend at least six feet before it reaches the bottom. I was heading for the deepest spot in the river.

I pushed the blade end of the paddle into the muck to dislodge the boat from its resting point. Nothing happened. I put my back into it and then everything happened. I was upside down in the water while the boat was casually beginning to float away along with my sun hat. I was still griping the paddle tightly as my feet found the bottom and I gained a purchase on the muck at the river’s bottom. I climbed aboard the boat without difficulty as it now decided to behave normally after its unexplainable twisting as it reached the river.

I was soaked from head to toe. I took a short ride upstream until the propeller blades became fouled with weeds and I gave up the adventure as a good experience gone bad. I went back to the dreaded entry point and now, without fear of getting wet, I crawled from the boat to the ledge at the grassy  shore on my hands and knees, pulling the boat behind me. As I finally reached the top I remembered. I whipped my cell phone from my front pocket. Then I pulled my soggy wallet from my hip pocket. As I took off my hat to let it dry in the sun, something felt different. The earpiece of one of my hearing aids was missing. It had been stolen by the river during my unexpected somersault from the canoe. I gathered up my paddle, my hat, the damn motor, and slowly waddled home as my shoes squeaked with each step.

I spent today drying my cash and credit cards from my wallet, trying and then giving up on drying my phone, and dealing with the hearing aid company for a new earpiece. Of course, the hearing aid lady mentioned that my two-year warranty had expired in April. So far, the financial tally of damages seems to be stretching toward a few thousand dollars -- probably more than I ever spent in previous HI  Adventure Trips. And this for a 10 - minute ride.

Surely, an experienced canoe man like me should know better than to climb into a canoe perched on the edge of a steep embankment. Or maybe the cause was just a freak occurrence with a twisty, square-backed canoe with a motor. I’m leaning toward the freak occurrence. Whadayou think?

Porcupine Mountains

Michigan’s Porcupine Mountains State Park turns 75 Years Old

Michigan is known far and wide as a mecca for hunters, fishermen, hikers, campers, boaters, as well as those interested in other outdoor activities. One of the principal reasons the state came by this reputation was the far-sighted views of early leaders in Michigan’s state government and those outdoor enthusiasts who encouraged the purchase of wild lands for public use. Because of many efforts to save the most beautiful areas, Michigan now boasts a state park system that owns and operates 103 wonderful state parks open to the public for myriad uses. The crown jewel of this state park system is the largest park in the system and one whose wilderness character has been carefully preserved, The Porcupine Wilderness State Park.

1941
Rangers Examine Virgin Timber

 The history of development of “the Porkies’ began in 1941 even as the nation began struggling with World War II. In October 1941, an article in the Detroit Free Press predicted a dire future for the timberlands in the extreme west end of the Upper Peninsula if they were not saved from the woodsman’s axe. The mountainous area at the state’s western border covered 250 miles and featured lakes, rivers, and uninterrupted forest cover. The forest contained a variety of forest stands including virgin timber of hemlock and a variety of hardwoods. The Free Press story  predicted that “At the present rate of cutting, the largest single stand of virgin hardwood in the United States …known as the Porcupine Mountains, will be reduced to a tree-less stump-covered waste in less than 10 years.”

 

Residents of the Upper Peninsula understood the value of the area with its beautiful lakes and rivers nestled in the mountains that are the highest in the Midwest between New York’s .Adirondacks and the Black Hills of Dakota. Calls for the state to acquire the private lands began as early as 1923, but it took public pressure resulting from a newspaper story for State officials to begin the process of purchasing the available land. In 1944, the state finally allocated $1 million for the purchase of 64,000 acres in the Porcupine Mountains to compete with a commercial proposal to mine and log the land. The sellers agreed to the state’s offer and the DNR immediately began planning the park to focus on public access to the most beautiful areas within the proposed park area.

Presque Isle River 

 

Designated as Michigan’s first wilderness state park, the majority of the park’s interior has been left undeveloped. However, by 1948 an extensive trail system had been created, including 10 trailside cabins designed to accommodate hikers.

The park gained the “wilderness” part of its title in 1972, after passage of the Wilderness and Natural Areas Act.

Perhaps the best known and most scenic area within the park is its Lake of the Clouds- a backcountry, 133-acre watershed that is surrounded by forest. As I recall, one of the most compelling views is on the hiking trail that approaches the lake from above. From here, the lake is completely visible with its surrounding forest stretching out in all directions. As you pan the distant edge of the lake; another view comes into focus – further below the lake’s edge and the forest that encircles it, the land falls away to expose a cream-colored shoreline as the :Lake Superior shoreline comes into focus some miles distant. The hiking trail that I took to the lake continued down to Lake Superior. It was inviting, but too long and too far away for me at that visit.

Lake of the Clouds Overlook

Many areas on the south shore of Lake Superior served as home base for numerous bands of Indians, most commonly Ojibwa and Odawa. The Indian history of the area prompted evocative place names lending credence to the rugged and deep forest mountain character of this area. Indian derived names include Miscowawbic Peak, Manabezho Falls, Mirror Lake, Lost Creek Outpost and Green Mountain Peak in addition to the aforementioned Lake of the Clouds.

If you are looking for a place to camp this summer, the Porcupine Wilderness State Park has much to offer as I learned many years ago.

(Information used in this blog was originally prepared by Michigan Department of Natural Resources employee JOHN PEPIN)

Pandemics in America

Pandemics in America

When I was a boy growing up in Indiana, we played cowboys and Indians in the lawns around our neighborhood. On most days, those who were selected to be cowboys would wrap a bandana around their faces (like all good cowboys did to keep the dust out) and chase after those who were Indians for that day. If I was a cowboy, I always wanted to keep my bandana in place after the game ended but my mother said when I left the yard, I had to take it off. Fast forward 60-some years.

Things have turned upside down now that we are sheltered at home due to the corona virus pandemic. As a result, I spend most of my time in my own yard puttering around (adult playtime). Unlike my childhood days, my wife says if I leave our yard, I must be sure to put my mask ON in case I encounter a friend.

Our government leaders have enacted extraordinary rules about social interchange in response to the pandemic caused by the corona virus. The resulting disease is known as Covid 19, (19 to indicate the year the disease was first encountered). The disease is caused by the novel (a new virus) in the family of corona viruses. [Who decided to name it after a famous beer?] The deadly outbreak of this disease is easily the largest thing that has happened in my lifetime, eclipsing the horrors of both World War II, and Viet Nam in its ferocity of killing Americans. Monday’s news indicated that it was the deadliest day yet with the virus killing more than 3,000 Americans on one day. Twenty of our states have reported increases in the number of Covid 19 cases being reported with Michigan 3rd in the nation by reporting 4,000 new cases. In the same news, it was reported that most states are now ‘reopening’ their businesses despite recommendations from health officials that it is unwise.

How can it be that the calls to open our economy are occurring coincident with reaching new records in the number of deaths from this pandemic?

The passions concerning our economy are growing: In Michigan, armed men and women protested and entered the state house with swastikas, nooses, and military gear, demanding that the state re-open despite the certainty that more disease and more deaths will result. Several men among the protestors carried high-powered military guns and were dressed in make-believe military clothes, although there was not an honest-to-God military man among them. They reminded me of my boyhood playmates dressed in cowboy gear, strutting about for the cameras. “They are good people,” according to a government leader.

What are these people thinking?

The corona virus has taken over our nation and affected every American. Our President says that the rapid spread of the pandemic occurred in America because no one could see it coming. Such a poor excuse. The truth is that pandemics have occurred regularly in our history, both in the recent past and in the previous centuries and everyone involved in medicine and health knows this history with the apparent exception of those men and women appointed to high office by Donald Trump. Here is a thumb nail sketch of our history of pandemics that I discovered in a single afternoon.

EBOLA (1976 in Africa, 2014 in America)
 The first known outbreak of EVD was identified only after the fact. It occurred between June and November 1976 in  South Sudan near the Ebola River, and was caused by the Sudan virus (SUDV). The initial Sudan outbreak infected 284 people and killed 151. Since this outbreak, the virus has reappeared dozens of times in many countries, but primarily in Africa. The US has had only a few dozens of cases - primarily in 2014. The origin of the disease in America came from medical personnel who worked to help Ebola victims in Africa. Although the disease can be lethal, treatment for victims in America has been largely successful and the disease did not spread here because of successful mitigation efforts undertaken by former President Barack Obama.

Photo by Pablo Martinez Monsivais/AP
Nina Pham is hugged by Dr. Anthony Fauci, director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, as she leaves the NIH hospital in Bethesda. Pham was diagnosed with Ebola on Oct. 12. Another Dallas nurse, Amber Vinson, was treated at Emory University Hospital, and physicians reported Ebola is no longer in her blood.

SARS (2002)
SARS, which stands for severe acute respiratory syndrome, is caused by the SARS coronavirus. It first infected people in late 2002 in China, and within weeks spread to 37 countries including the US. The virus infected 8,000 people, killing about 800. SARS, a corona virus that caused pneumonia was ultimately defeated by health officials around the world including US medical experts who were instrumental in combating this disease.

HIV/AIDS (1980’s)
The HIV virus infected 60 million people and caused an estimated 30 million deaths around the world. This virus was transmitted from one person to another primarily through sexual activity. This virus is still active in many parts of the world but it is less severe than earlier because of successful treatments with a cocktail of medications that were developed in response to the pandemic.

SMALLPOX (discovered on Egyptian mummies from the 3rd century AD)
Before smallpox was eradicated, it was a serious infectious disease caused by the variola virus. It was contagious by person to person contact and by handling blankets and clothing worn by those who had the disease. People who had smallpox had a fever and a distinctive, progressive skin rash. Most people with smallpox recovered, but about 3 out of every 10 people with the disease died. Smallpox came to America with Europeans who immigrated here. American Indians were highly susceptible to this disease as they had no immunity and it was rapidly transmitted throughout their nations causing death to all who were exposed but for a fortunate few.
The smallpox (variola virus), no longer exists in nature thanks to the success of vaccinations. No cases of naturally occurring smallpox have happened since 1977 with the last natural outbreak of smallpox in the United States in 1949.

SPANISH FLU (1918)
The influenza pandemic of 1918-1919 killed more people than those who died in World War I, somewhere between 20 and 40 million people. (Some estimates for the number of deaths from this outbreak are as high as 50 million.) It has been cited as the most devastating pandemic in recorded world history. More people died of influenza in a single year than in four-years of the Black Death/Bubonic Plague( see below). In the two years that this scourge ravaged the earth, a fifth of the world's population was infected. The flu was most deadly for people ages 20 to 40. This influenza virus had a profound virulence, with a mortality rate at 2.5% compared to the previous influenza epidemics, which were less than 0.1%. The death rate for 15 to 34-year-olds of influenza and pneumonia were 20 times higher in 1918 than in previous years.An estimated 675,000 Americans died of influenza during the pandemic. The effect of the influenza epidemic was so severe that the average life span in the US was depressed by 10 years. In 1918 American children skipped rope to the rhyme:

I had a little bird,
Its name was Enza.
I opened the window,
And in-flu-enza.

That influenza was sometimes referred to as the “Spanish Flu,” but that is a misnomer. The Historical Society of Michigan explained the origins of the inaccurate name: “Because of censorship associated with the Great War in Europe, the extent of influenza among both the Central Powers and the Allies was rarely reported. Spain, being neutral in the conflict, was not subjected to the same degree of restriction. Spanish publications often reported on the outbreak; hence the name Spanish Flu became common. The Spanish blamed the French as the source. In fact, the disease most likely originated at Camp Funston, Kansas since it reported the earliest outbreak" after the war ended and censorship was lifted.


This so-called Spanish Flu devasted all of America with the disease occurring everywhere in the US. Michigan was severely affected. Almost 15,000 Michigan residents died of flu or pneumonia between October 1918 and April 1919, and the age group with the highest mortality rate were young adults age 20 to 25.

People wearing cloth masks to protect themselves during this pandemic

During the 1918 flu pandemic, people wore masks but they provided limited protection against the virus. (Contributed by the Office of the Public Health Service Historian)

                       
The uptick in April 1918 represents the first, less lethal, wave of the influenza pandemic. The second wave, in which the flu virus had morphed into a much more deadly strain, struck Michigan in late September and deaths skyrocketed in October. By mid-October, the governor and state health department ordered the closing of churches and "places of public amusement," from movie theaters to saloons. Many communities also closed schools. After  those establishments were re-opened in November, deaths went up in December.” (Source: 1918-19 annual report from Michigan Commissioner of Health)

Another factor contributing to the rising death toll in December was how the disease spread in Michigan. The pandemic hit Michigan's urban centers first and the hardest. About three-quarters of all the deaths occurred in the southern third of the Lower Peninsula, and October was easily the worst month. In all, Michigan had four influenza outbreaks. The last large community outbreak occurred in 1920, more than two years after the initial introduction of the disease.

The central and northern Lower Peninsula and the Upper Peninsula -- including cities such as Grand Rapids and Saginaw -- were generally hit later, and the death toll in those counties peaked in November, December or even January 1919. Roscommon County with its 1918 population of 2998 souls saw a doubling of its death rate from 5.5 deaths per thousand residents in 1917 to 10.3 deaths per thousand in 1918.




BUBONIC PLAGUE OR BLACK DEATH (1347-1351)
Many nation states during the middle ages suffered through a contagious infection whose source was little understood and for which there were no known remedies. The infection was discovered not to result from a virus, but rather a bacterium. The pandemic spread rapidly through Asia, Europe, and Africa and killed an estimated 50 million people, perhaps one third of the entire population of Europe. The rate of death among untreated sufferers was 30 to 90 %. That the disease was known as the single most devastating tragedy the world had known accounts for the many tributes to its passing that are showcased in numerous town centers throughout Europe. Some of the large statues in town centers depict the suffering of hordes of people who were the ancestry of those towns and villages scattered throughout the urban areas.

The typical spread of the disease was from rats to fleas to people caused by the bacterium that became known as Yersinia pestis. The bacterium was spread in part by distribution of rats that accompanied trade from one nation to another including that which occurred as part of the ocean transport of goods with rats secreted amidst the bags and trunks used in international trade. The malady took its name from the blackening of victim’s skin as gangrene set in on parts of the body before death relieved the sufferer’s pain.

PLAGUE OF JUSTINIAN (541)
Another malady that occurred much earlier was the Plague of Justinian, a pandemic that originated during Roman times that was initially connected with capital city of Constantinople. This disease was initially recognized in 541 AD, with major recurrences until 750 AD. The disease is now easily cured by treatment with a variety of standard antibiotics. A vaccine for this malady has never been discovered, hence periodic breakouts have occurred in various locales until modern medicine is applied to interrupt the chain of transmission. It has been learned that The bacterium causing Black Death was the same that caused the Plague of Justinian and it continues to exist in nature today. Several cases of this plague have continued throughout the centuries with a recent outbreak in China in 2019 where four cases were recently confirmed.

So, what are we to learn from all these pandemics that have wreaked havoc on the world from the earliest times of human existence? I believe there are conclusions to be reached that are applicable to our current concerns with the novel corona virus and Covid 19.

1. Based on our past, serious health problems affecting large percentages of humans are inevitable; periodic outbreaks of diseases that defy available medications must be expected with regularity. Societies with rational leaders should be prepared for such emergencies.

2. Covid 19 will have recurrences over the next several months and perhaps years. It will not magically disappear without medical intervention that is not now available despite the happy talk of political leaders who are interested only in their personal well-being.

3. The only cure for the corona virus pandemic will be based on science and medical intervention. Until a treatment is available that cures the disease, and a vaccine becomes available that prevents its transmission, the disease will continue. The virus has no respect for a lack of economic activity or a surplus of same, only a citizenry dedicated to the defeat of the disease will win the battle.

Stay Safe, Bill

Earth Day  -  The Beginning and Now Its 50th Anniversary

Earth Day is the single most popular secular event held around the world. The event began in the United States in 1970 and was exported around the world by dedicated Americans and naturalists from other countries who held similar views. One of the founders was a man named Morton Hilbert from the U.S. Public Health Service who organized an environmental conference for students to learn about the effects of environmental degradation on human health. For the next two years, Hilbert and students worked to plan the first Earth Day. One of those who became interested in Hilbert’s work was U.S. Senator Gaylord Nelson who issued a proclamation for Earth Day after he toured an environmental disaster in California in 1969. While this Earth Day was focused on a United States event, a separate organization launched by Denis Hayes, who was the original national coordinator for the 1970 Earth Day event, made it international in 1990 and organized similar Earth Day events in 141 nations.

A major impetus for Earth Day began in the aftermath of two American environmental disasters. The first and perhaps most important was a disaster that occurred on January 28, 1969 in the form of an oil spill. The other event that ignited American public interest in the environment was the burning of a river. On June 22, 1969, the Cuyahoga River burst into flames in downtown Cleveland when sparks from a passing train set fire to oil-soaked debris floating on the water’s surface. These two disasters a few months apart provided the spark that ignited an environmental revolution.
When TIME Magazine published dramatic photos of the burning river — so saturated with sewage and industrial waste that it “oozes rather than flows,” concern erupted nationwide. The flaming Cuyahoga became a figurehead for America’s mounting environmental issues and sparked wide-ranging reforms. Note that the picture below was taken in 1952 – evidence that the river has burned several times. In fact, the 1969 burning is a victory of sorts, it is the last time the river burned. Here is the rest of the story.

The Cuyahoga River Fire of 1952 near downtown Cleveland

The worst environmental disaster in the United States in 1969 was the oil spill off the coast of Santa Barbara, California that occurred a few months before the burning of the river in Cleveland. From an oil industry perspective, Santa Barbara was about the worst place imaginable for an oil spill to occur, especially an event of the magnitude that occurred in a place loved my many vacationers. Of the many places that attract tourists, Santa Barbara is one of the best; a picturesque small town facing the south that is pinched between a lovely beachfront shoreline and the scenic mountains behind.

Santa Barbara Shoreline John Wiley User:Jw4nvc - Santa Barbara, California

In the mid 1960’s, the love affair between Americans and their automobiles provoked a cultural change. Their dependence upon autos for most facets of everyday life stimulated an unprecedented demand for gasoline. American oil marketers, the so-called Big Oil companies, were only too happy to respond by drilling wells anywhere and everywhere that oil could be found. One of those places was just off the coast of Santa Barbara, California.
The city and county authorities in Santa Barbara wanted to be certain that drilling for oil would do nothing to harm their tourist business, so they placed restrictions on the oil companies who wanted to drill for the readily accessible oil beneath the ocean’s surface.

Offshore drilling for oil was nothing new to Santa Barbara since it had begun there in 1897. A man named H.L. Williams is credited with drilling a well from a wooden pier in the Santa Barbara Channel in 1897, the first to be drilled entirely in the ocean. He used an island pier to support a land rig located next to an existing oil field. The well was successful for several years, but local authorities wanted to be sure that drilling in the region would not spoil their burgeoning tourist business. California's state authorities heeded their views and established regulations covering the property owned by the state, thus effectively ending offshore oil drilling. But the lure of profits from oil seemed irresistible. By the late 1960's, oil interests had petitioned the US government for drilling rights in federally controlled areas beyond the reach of locals. Off-shore drilling began once again, this time in waters controlled by the Federal Government.

A new boom in off-shore drilling began in the 1960’s after deep well drilling rigs were perfected for off-shore use. A number of rigs began operating around Santa Barbara as soon as the feds sold drilling rights. Union Oil was one of the winning bidders who designed and developed new rigs for new field. Shortly after an off-shore drilling rig was completed, drilling began on new Platform A in January of 1969. By the end of the month several wells had been completed and plans were in place for oil pumping as soon as the delivery systems were in place. But then Platform A had a sudden problem: the new well suddenly blew out; the crew had a gusher that was sending gas, oil, and mud upwards, coating the roustabouts on the platform with a filthy mix of salt water, drilling mud and oil. The drillers knew exactly what to do. They withdrew the drilling pipe and bit and replaced it with a 'blow-out preventer'--a stiff pipe inserted into the well casing with provisions for a cap on its end. The pressure was too much, they were unable to screw the cap in place to prevent the high-pressure oil and gas from its explosive flow. Sensing their failure, the drillers tried a measure of last resort; dropping the entire length of drill pipe, nearly a 1/2-mile-long into the hole they had pierced into the sea floor. As the last section of pipe was attached, the men worked quickly to crush the top of the pipe into a flat section that prevented further flow of oil and gas. It had taken them just 13 minutes to complete the emergency ‘last resort’ operation. They cheered their good fortune as the explosive flow of oil stopped. They had successfully capped the well and stopped the leak. Only it wasn't stopped, the leak simply moved somewhere else.

The first announcement of the potential disaster was made by Union Oil's regional superintendent about two and a half hours after the blowout. The superintendent told the Coast Guard that a well had blown out, but no oil was escaping. The superintendent then held a news conference to announce the spill and the successful capping operation. Everything is under control, he said.  Shortly after the cap was installed an oil bubble and oil slick was noticed near the site of the well. Just residual oil from the leak, they seemed to think.

The seriousness of the spill became evident the next morning when a Coast Guard helicopter took Union Oil Superintendent Brown along with a State Fish and Game warden out over the platform, where they saw a central oil slick that extended several miles east, west, and south of the platform. They estimated a total of 75 square miles was covered by oil less than 24 hours after the blowout. An anonymous worker on the drill rig had telephoned the Santa Barbara News-Press regarding the blowout and the story was out. A Union Oil Vice President, John Fraser, assured reporters and local officials that the spill was small, with a diameter of 1,000 to 3,000 feet, and the leak would be quickly controlled. He said the estimated spill was about 5,000 US gallons. (Later estimates put the spill rate in the first days at about 210,000 US gallons per day).
 
In the next several hours, sharp-eyed observers noticed more oil slicks in the waters surrounding the nearby islands. Finally it dawned on the oil company executives, that the high pressure of the oil and gas beneath had broken through the weak, sandy soil at the ocean bottom and oil was spewing from several ruptures in the earth, many distant from the original drill hole. Evidence of the leaking oil began to be understood as oil slicks began appearing on beaches all around the area. Initially it seemed that no one knew how to control the flow and fix the leak that continued for the next several days. Over the ten-day period of the leak, 80,000 to 100,000 barrels of crude oil spewed from the failed well into the clear coastal waters at a leak rate in excess of 100,000 gallons per hour. It was the largest oil spill in United States waters by that time, and now ranks third after the 2010 Deepwater Horizon leak in the Gulf of Mexico and 1989 Exxon Valdez spill off the coast of Alaska. It remains the largest oil spill to have occurred in the waters off California as result of Union Oil's leak at platform A on the Santa Barbara coast.

Beach clean-up operations at Santa Barbara using straw to absorb oil

The leak galvanized both local and national action to remedy the damage done. Techniques for clean-up of the spilled oil was rudimentary; workers used whatever they had at hand in trying to soak up the oil that was fouling the precious beaches.

The leak became both local and national news. Activists around the country pointed to the leak as an example of failed policies of the US government concerning protection of natural resources. In February of 1969, the President of Union Oil arrived in southern California to see for himself what had happened. He was heckled at the airport and an instant demonstration against big oil erupted. The Santa Barbara spill alarmed the country and awakened those who felt action was needed.

President Nixon was stirred to action. He visited Santa Barbara in March and walked the beach to witness the environmental damage caused by the oil leak and get his picture taken while he talked to local people worried about the problem. His presence furthered the energy of those activists who wanted change. Some months later the Cuyahoga River caught fire in Cleveland and added fuel to the nation’s mood for environmental activism. The two local events quickly fused a national movement for natural resource activism. Four months after his Santa Barbara visit, Nixon established an environmental council in his Cabinet, and in 1970, he established the Environmental Protection Agency and gave the new organization the authority to propose numerous pieces of environmental legislation. Within the next several years, legislation was implemented that now forms the legal and regulatory framework for the modern environmental movement in the U. S.

The first Earth Day was celebrated that same year.

Hunkered Down in Roscommon

Hunkered Down in Roscommon

Like many people across the country, Marjorie and I are pretty much staying home because of the corona virus that is sweeping the country. Our progressive, smart lady governor has implemented strict guidelines to keep Michigan people separated and safe from the bug by shutting down restaurants and bars. My own theory was that alcohol helped kill bugs, but I have to assume the governor knows best so we have been trying to follow all the rules and advice that we hear on our glowing rectangles. (I did, however, stock up on booze just to hedge my bets.)

 Since we have fewer things to keep us occupied, we have been watching a lot of TV. The national news seems to have a new story every day about how the disease is getting worse by the hour. They also offer tips on what to do to avoid getting dead. I’m not sure the advice is any good. Everything I learn about the virus makes it seem that the nasty little bug is out to get me. For example, the corona bug is hardest on seniors and is also guilty of sexual discrimination since it strikes down men at twice the mortality rate as women. Besides, I am having a hard time following all the rules about avoiding the bug. They said don’t touch your face so I gave up shaving. That only lasted one day since my unshaven beard itched, and I touched my face over a hundred times that day. I also was unable to give up my morning walk to the coffee klatch attended by two or three other old codgers like me.

Obeying the advice about social distancing is also hard for me. Staying six feet away from people during conversation is hard since my hearing aids seem to have a conversational range of just under five feet.
The prohibition against touching someone or, God forbid, breathing the same air as someone else, is also tough after a lifetime of hand shaking and breathing.

Although our state officials are trying to help, the Federal government offers no help at all and our poor President is completely out of his league when he tries discussing anything more scientific than bubble gum. Fortunately, the infectious disease medicine specialist Dr. Fausi is on hand for all of the President’s news briefings to contradict him at each of his misstatements. Fausi is unable, however, to assist with any reporter’s questions as the President is quick to jump in with his stock answer: “You are a bad reporter!”

Even my doctor didn’t offer any help for me. “You seem well enough to me,” he said, “let’s just skip your next appointment.”

I lasted almost two weeks in trying to adhere to the rules. But today, I had enough. For the first time in two weeks, I suggested to the wife that we drive to town and enjoy ourselves with a few of the diversions that our village of Roscommon offers, topped off by a nice brunch at a local restaurant. She agreed with a surplus of energy suggesting she too, had enough of corona virus isolation.

We left in late morning and drove the six miles to town in hot anticipation of our first day away from home in (it seemed like) several months. Our first stop was a surprise that the wife sprang on me. She insisted that we stop at the Rite Aid store in downtown Roscommon. “Whatever for?” I asked.

“Wait till we go inside and then I’ll surprise you,” she said coyly. It sounded exciting, so I followed her in.

The surprise was something we had been waiting for, but not something I really wanted. It was time for our second shot to finish the vaccination process for shingles. The first shot was several weeks earlier, but I still had the memory of a sore arm. Only the chance to shop for some badly needed provisions made the surprise shot in the arm a little more bearable. Jim, the pharmacist who administered today’s shot remembered me. “Oh yes, you’re the fellow who screamed at the first shot I administered. We lost a number of sales that day when several customers left the store.” He paused for my response. I couldn’t think of a thing to say, but I did look about to see if any other customers were nearby. Since no one was listening, I thought silence was my best defense and the pharmacist went ahead with the business of plunging the needle deep into my arm without a trace of compassion.

After our shots, we had a pleasant interlude of shopping for supplies for the continuing sentence of home isolation. More about that later. “Let’s go to the car wash and get the truck washed,” I offered since I wanted to continue basking in the glow of purposeful activity outside on my own four walls. We did the carwash and wonder of wonder, I still had the coupon for the lower-priced multiple car wash, having not lost it in the jumble of a man’s truck stuff. It was like hitting the lottery on your birthday.

Since the shop that had my broken chainsaw was closed, I suggested to Marjorie we skip that adventure and that it was time for the main event of our outing, our purchased brunch that needed neither preparation nor clean-up. We were both hungry and both excited for our first store-bought meal in some time. Further, since we had no reason to debate our brunch site selection, I pulled the truck across the street and into MacDonald’s carryout line. Another treat; no one else was in line. We ordered our Big Mac’s and fries and cokes. The former 45 cent meal had escalated in price; the change from a twenty-dollar bill was a few singles and some nearly worthless coins. We took our brunch from the drive-thru lady and drove the two blocks to park alongside the river in the warm, sunny day that had managed to almost reach 32 degrees. We lowered the windows on the truck until the snow began to creep in like dust in a neglected closet.

The Big Mac’s hit the spot. We gulped them down before beginning the drive home to finish the best part of our outing- the shelving of our carefully considered and purchased essentials that would help see us through the next phase of our confinement. I had the honor of carrying the purchases from our truck to the house and therefore the pleasure of enumerating and storing each of the several dozen candy bars, the gallon of ice cream, the blow-pop suckers and, not the least, the mustard flavored pretzels that would go wonderfully with the homemade beer. Since we already had popcorn stored away and I had purchased wine and liquor earlier, we agreed we were well-provisioned for another stint of hunkering down in Roscommon.

Stay healthy.

Winter Walking

Winter Walking

I may have told you that I walk to my coffee klatch most mornings despite whatever the weatherman throws my way. This morning walk follows my lifetime habit of walking whenever circumstances afforded me the opportunity to enjoy the outdoors and I had the time for a leisurely stroll. During my working days, I often used a portion of my lunch hour to leave the office and walk around the neighborhood of wherever place I happened to be. In the summer months, wife Marjorie and I frequently walked together in the evening around the neighborhoods of our Clarkston, Michigan hometown just for the pleasure of a brief respite from the cares of everyday life.

After our three sons began to participate in Boy Scouts, their activities provoked Marjorie and I to begin longer hiking trips into the back woods. For several years, we devoted some of our precious vacation time to backpacking trips, walking through the woods with our camping gear, food and water carefully ensconced in bottles and bags on our backs. It was on one of those backpack trips that I discovered that some walks are harder than others. One section of a hike on the Pictured Rocks hiking trail passed over a sandy beach. The beach sand seemed to suck in each footfall, making every step a challenge to stay erect and balanced given the backpack and its burden during the warm weather.

We haven’t walked the backpack trails in some while as the rigors of the practice and the resultant soreness now seem more severe than the pleasures derived. Since my retirement, however; I have continued walking for exercise and pleasure, finding solace in the woods and rural character of our current neighborhood. Besides that, I consider it my duty to keep an eye out for any apparent wrongdoing to fulfill my role as neighborhood curmudgeon.

So, you see I have lengthy experience in walking and sufficient chutzpah to offer this treatise about foot-based ambulatory excursions in the North Woods. The first thing I learned about walking here is that the pleasure derived is highly dependent on the season, the weather, and the conditions of the pathway that I choose to walk upon.

Mosquitoes and black flies are a substantial risk in spring time walking as the critters grow to proportions that make blood donations unnecessary in warm weather. Cold weather walking generally offers freedom from the aforementioned pests, but it also eliminates the pleasure of listening to bird songs and the calls of frogs and other vocalizing critters. The walks in summer and fall are only occasionally disrupted by neighborhood visitors who seem to think it is their duty to disrupt the peaceful character of our wooded area by ear-splitting, open-air machines that travel much too fast for a motorcycle, snowmobile, or four-wheeler, all of which are operated without seat belts or other attributes signaling a dose of common sense.

My morning walks to the coffee klatch necessarily involves walking on the paved road that serves as my pathway to the neighbor’s house. A recent February morning’s walk is instructive of one of the many walking hazards that need exposure by a curmudgeon like me. You should first understand that roads are not the exclusive domain of motorists. Most roads in our nation, especially in rural areas like mine, were planned and built long before cars existed. The traffic expected by those who planned our roads was primarily walkers and those who drove horse-pulled contrivances. Car and truck drivers were late arrivals who began using the roads only in the last century. The point of this discussion is to illustrate that walkers, bicyclists, runners, horse drivers and other road users have both preemptive and legal rights to use our roads just as much as do motorists. Now, back to my winter walk of last month.

The roadway was covered in snow, about six inches, and no more than three or four cars had passed by judging from the few tracks through the snow following the route that the drivers believed was the actual road. The temperature was in the teens and the 20 mile per hour wind added to the challenge. I thought back to the beach sand and decided that this walk was my second worst as I trudged along, trying to minimize the effect of the snow by walking in the tire tracks. I was content with the silence of the walk as the snow provided a blanket on everything and my headgear further insulated me from almost any sound. Thus it was that I didn’t hear the approaching vehicle that had also chosen the center of the road for his pathway. He was traveling way faster than me, too fast for a snow-covered road. Suddenly the sounds of his motor reached my ears and I turned to see a pick-up truck heading straight for me. I lunged to the side of the road as he whipped by me, making no apparent effort to swerve to the side, probably the correct approach as a sudden move would have likely caused a skid. It was too close for comfort. Had I had been able, I would have spoken sharply to the offending driver as befitting my role as curmudgeon, but instead the vehicle continued down the road, seemingly oblivious to the close call.

In hindsight, I realize the driver was not guilty of malfeasance. He (or she) was just going about the business of daily life, in a hurry, and guilty of nothing more than being unaware of a solitary walker making his way down a snowy road on a weekday morning. His and my life almost took a terrible turn but, in the end, continued without so much as a ruffled hat or slipped boot print.

And now on the eve of the arrival of spring, our road has mostly returned to bare pavement save for the ice in front of my house and driveway. I expect that it too will soon be gone and with it the reminder of winter and the frailty of life while walking on a snow-covered road. And yesterday, as a postmark to an eventful week, I went grocery shopping with wife Marjorie in a nearby Amish shop. As I waited near the check-out line, a little girl of three or four bobbed about while her slightly older brother wandered nearby. She must have noticed me because she soon tugged her brother around the corner to point me out. “Look at the old man!” she said, to the smiles and chuckles of several nearby shoppers. I couldn’t help myself from smiling also, although I did slink away as soon as I reasonably could.

Birthday Present

Birthday Present

You may have noticed that my wife Marjorie celebrated her birthday this week on the 12^th of February. Yes, she shares her birthday with Abraham Lincoln and I have been forever grateful for her foresight in choosing that date; I would probably be in the doghouse most years, had it nor been for the coincidence of the two dates.

And before I forget, thanks to the multitude of you who saw fit to wish her a happy birthday on her big day. She looked at every wish that was offered and I think she did indeed have a happy birthday. I thought it most interesting how so many of you found novel ways to say ‘Happy Birthday” without really saying those rather mundane words.

I had a hard time for my contribution to her birthday. I spoke with her and other women about a suitable birthday gift. It didn’t help. As I recall I offered a diamond or diamonds, a precious stone-encrusted bracelet and other baubles. “No,” she said, “I don’t really need any new jewelry, but I would like something special this year, something I could really use.”

It sounded to me like a kiss of death. She was asking for something special – something I had no idea how to satisfy. I fell into a discussion with a lady friend that I knew to be a birthday present connoisseur. Her response was not at all helpful.

“I don’t really have birthdays,” she informed me. “I have birthday months. We generally visit Florida during my birthday month so I look for special things down there for my celebrations. It’s a treat.”

As far as I had been informed, we weren’t traveling to Florida any time even close to February. The selection of a suitable present seemed to be going nowhere fast. In fact, despite my subtle hints about the matter, I assumed the topic was of little interest to my beloved. Boy, was I wrong as I began to learn after her birthday came and went this week. Today, she seemed willing for some extended shopping to finally select a suitable present, despite the fact that we had already consumed her birthday dinner at a local emporium. On our shopping venture, I soon learned that she had not only selected a present that she wanted; she also knew the exact store where I could procure it, how much it would cost, and exactly where in the store it was located.

I was relieved. At this point in my desperate search for answers, I would have bid on the Brooklyn Bridge if that were the object of her desires. I went to the store, Rite Aid, purchased the gift, and returned home in the same afternoon with the gift in hand. I showed it to her and she verified the exactness of my selection. I asked if she wanted me to wrap the unusual gift. She looked at me quizzically. I took the look to mean that mine was a dumb suggestion. (Another win for me.) She said she wanted to use it today and would I please help set it up for her use. I practically fell over in searching for an electrical cord that was needed to operate the gadget.

Let me cut to the chase. The gift was a heating pad. Not just any heating pad that we already have two of; rather, this special heating pad provides warm, MOIST heat to soothe the treated body parts. Upon inspection, I learned that the moisture comes from a damp washrag that the user places inside the bag housing the heater.

She used the heater today and pronounced it exactly what she wanted.

I think my good luck in procuring the exact gift comes from our lengthy wedded bliss. After all, she is an old white woman and I am a doddering, old curmudgeon who has followed her along our winding pathway of life for more than 50 years. It makes birthday presents seem like a minor thing, although it is good to get the correct one on occasion. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARJORIE.