Updates from SLV

Global warming concerns aside - the extended summer here is extremely welcome. Almost makes me feel as if winter isn't fast approaching... but I know it's lurking just around the corner.

This has been one of the nicest Autumns I can remember - with the warm, dry weather and brilliant orange, crimson & gold leaves proliferating across the hillsides.

I've enjoyed hiking in the falling leaves and noticing the colors brilliant against the bluebird sky. Actually heard elk bugle close by in the early morning. Now I understand why Jack heads to the woods every Fall - ostensibly to bowhunt, but I believe he finds peace of mind just sitting in his tree stand - quietly...

I wish my time in the San Luis Valley has been more joyous - more peaceful - free of strife - and no crazy people camping in my front "yard". Unfortunately - life has been challenging here - more challenges than celebrations. In the last six years I've lived in the Villa Grove area, I've experienced the drama and trauma of building a new home - the toll it takes on a relationship - a few years of absolutely no down time - when you're not actively working at your place of employment (in my case founding and implementing a program for high-risk youth) - you're at work on the home in progress. Add in financial stress - and risky commutes (whiteknuckling it over the icy snow-packed mountain passes) to get to work 32 miles away - and the associated costs of maintaining vehicles in high altitude frozen winters - plus relying on wood stoves for heat (a constant process of getting firewood & feeding fires) - and it's not exactly the recipe for ease and relaxation.

Marital strife, limited career opportunities, financial anxieties, inept county officials, Wild West characters who build a compound on your land, barricade you out of your driveway and then felony menace your loved ones with sawed-off shotguns. Try leaving a position in a progressive county where you are respected and enjoying your work to be hired at the local high school where a 3 day new teacher training is cancelled and you're basically on your own - never having been a HS teacher before. But please, do not take home the toilet paper or pens - pilfering is such a big issue amongst the education professionals who earn graduate degrees and pathetic salaries.

Then the ups and downs of neighbors and friends relationships. More on that later.

I am dreading the onslaught of winter because I have realized that I am resistant to the idea of living through another 7 months in the frozen Yukon. It is too sad at times to live where I live - animals die, isolation and loneliness are constant companions and there is a complete lack of color - living in a white house with white walls in a stark white landscape. Not so far removed from the padded rooms.

I have a need for ease - and comfort - and safety - all which are not met where I live.

Villa Groovy in the Summer

I LOVE where I live - in the summer. It's the perfect temps - warm & sunny - no humidity - and sometimes I even feel that it's really Summer; I actually sweat during a hike with the pups. Neighbors are more visible - gardens planted by the industrious amongst us attempt to flourish in spite of the limited (4 months at best) growing season. Our trees - long leaf Cottonwoods - are the native species here and can grow up to a few feet a season. Jack planted one for our wedding that we can see from our kitchen & dining room windows - it's now over 12 feet tall, six years later.

Nights are still somewhat cool, but one can venture outside to stare at the starry spread of illuminated constellations and planets that appear close enough to touch.
Majestic.
Sublime.

Brings back memories of the Hayden Planetarium I visited numerous times while I lived in New York. I had no concept that the night skies could actually exist in such a glorious manner; city girl that I was.

After a number of river trips spent sleeping out under the stars, I became enchanted with the idea of always having the night sky as my canopy. So an over the bed skylight was added to the home design plans, for which I am forever grateful.

Trades

Sparkling city lights for the broad expanse of starry skies,
Urban conveinence for country quiet,
The crush of crowds for the crackling cold,
Anemic storebought eggs for the bright orange yolks of the cackling chickens,
Trips to the Mall for paddling whitewater on weekends,
Big name bands concerts in large venues for cozy outdoor hippie fests,
White linen for Guatemalan weave,
Luxury automobiles and sexy sportscars for practical 4 wheel drive beater trucks and Subarus,
From mowing lawns and landscaping to raising goats for weed removal - and milk,
From big chain restaurants to tiny roadside cafes,
From writing checks for charity to volunteering in person,
From taking a cruise to rowing my own boat on river trips,
From mainstream America to the outpost of civilization,
The majority of the time, I appreciate my new life.
Trading up, not trading off.

Peace!

Restorative Justice - Not an Oxymoron

Crime happens. All of us in our “civilized” societies are fully aware of this shared reality. Victims of crime suffer – and experience a range of emotions – anywhere from mere annoyance to sheer terror. How do these individuals find “justice”? How do victims heal? Is it possible for offenders admit to accountability in the presence of those who have been harmed by their actions?

In the American justice system, victims are disempowered – they generally have little or no say in our legal system. The voice of the victims is represented by District Attorneys as representatives of “The State”. It is a newsworthy event when a victim is granted permission by a judge to directly address an offender.

Enter Restorative Justice - a breath of fresh air – the proverbial “ray of light/hope” in the complicated landscape of legal morass.

Restorative Justice (RJ) is based on a theory of justice and a global social change movement that endorses peaceful approaches to harm, problem-solving and violations of legal and human rights. According to Boston’s Suffolk University, College of Arts & Sciences, Center for Restorative Justice (http://www.suffolk.edu/research/6953.html,
“restorative approaches seek a balanced approach to the needs of the victim, wrongdoer and community through processes that preserve the safety and dignity of all".

Restorative Justice involves a fostering of dialogue between the offender and the victim, and has shown the highest rates of victim satisfaction, true accountability by the offender, and reduced recidivism.

RJ programs reflect restorative rather than retributive justice response to crime by identifying and taking steps to repair harm, (ensuring accountability), involving all stakeholders (victims, offenders and community), and by transforming the traditional relationship between communities and their governments in responding to crime.

In Restorative Justice programs, the focus is on crime and wrong-doing as acted against the individual or community rather than the State. RJ processes emphasize repairing harm caused or revealed by criminal behavior. The focus on the needs of victims and offenders forges powerful connections and individual transformations, which is speeds healing rather than a focus on satisfying the abstract principles of law or the need of the community to exact punishment.Through RJ, the person who has done harm (offender) and the person who has been harmed (victim) take an active role.
In The Little Book of Restorative Justice by author Howard Zehr, Restorative Justice posits a paradigm shift that is best understood by asking the oft-quoted "three questions." The more common three questions for a system of justice to ask are "1. What laws have been broken?, 2. Who did it?, 3. What do they deserve?" Restorative Justice asks, "1. Who has been hurt?, 2. What are their needs?, 3. Whose obligations are these?”


“Restorative justice is a value-based approach to conflict and harm. These values are often identified as inclusion, democracy, responsibility, reparation, safety, healing and reintegration. But one value is more essential than any other—Respect.” (Suffolk University)
Here in the 11th Judicial District, Full Circle Restorative Justice (FCRJ) addresses the harm caused by crime, and provides opportunities for victim empowerment and restitution, while supporting offender accountability and integration back into the community.

Full Circle provides a safe framework of conferencing to meet the needs of victims, communities, schools and offenders, while minimizing the youth involvement within the legal system.

Restorative Justice has the unique power to transform lives, and reduce recidivism and the high cost of crime and incarceration. The benefits of Restorative Justice include giving victims a voice in the justice process, enabling offenders to understand the impact of their actions on a victim, as well as the community, and providing opportunities for offenders to repair the harm and to help ensure positive future choices.

Bottom line:
Restorative Justice saves taxpayer money. The cost of incarcerating one youth for one year in a detention center or prison is $24,000 to $50,000+.

Recidivism rate after “warehousing” our youth: High.

The cost of deferring a youth post-crime to Restorative Justice programs: Approximately $150, and dedicated volunteer hours.

Recidivism rate after Victim and Offender connect in a supportive restorative circle: Low.

Pretty much price-less.

(The Full Circle Restorative Justice Board of Directors includes residents of Chaffee, Fremont and Saguache counties dedicated to the promotion of restorative justice as a recidivism prevention and community-building process. The focus of Restorative Justice is not punitive, but rather on addressing and resolving the underlying issues and conflict inherent in a dispute. Full Circle conference facilitators are trained to reach an understanding of each unique situation. Facilitators mediate conflict and develop a written agreement which addresses the issues and focuses on repairing the harm done -- by means of restitution, community service, and other sanctions. Offenders have the choice to fulfill their mutually-agreed upon contracts or return to the court system.)

By Patty LaTaille
Executive Director
Full Circle Restorative Justice
fullcirclerj@gmail.com
719 221-3069

Published online at The Salida Citizen on April 23, 2010 http://salidacitizen.com/salida/community/

Elements of Care

“How difficult to imagine this place without a human presence; how necessary. I am almost prepared to believe that this sweet virginal primitive land will be grateful for my departure and the absence of the tourists, will breathe metaphorically a collective sigh of relief—like a whisper of wind—when we are all and finally gone and the place and its creations can return to their ancient procedures unobserved and undisturbed by the busy, anxious, brooding consciousness of man."
(Naturalist and Author Edward Abbey in Desert Solitaire)

In so many cases of natural resource management – human traffic and nature are similar to oil and water. They don’t mix. Nature invariably seems to lose out – through human ignorance, carelessness or plain lack of respect. The aftermath of human presence is generally ugly; with tossed beer bottles and illegal campfire rings, trails of toilet paper littering the landscape, roadless areas torn up and wildlife terrorized by illegal OHV use. This is why education and dedication are paramount in maintaining and preserving natural treasures.

To many travelers worldwide, the Grand Canyon is a sacred site – one of immense geographical grandeur and beauty, with sweeping vistas of varied hues. Pink, brown, red, magenta, purple and green bands of color dominate the landscape in the canyon; with canyon walls a study in perspective and acoustics. The emerald green waters of the Colorado, (which run a muddy chocolate milk color after flash floods,) wind their way through 280 miles of canyon before broadening into Lake Mead. People truly care about the Grand Canyon - and the river that runs through it – and consciously commit to protecting and preserving the true nature of a canyon adventure.

Rafting white water through the Grand Canyon – one of the most sought-after river trips in the world – is an honor and a privilege. It’s been known to take years of prolonged anticipation for the prized permit to materialize. To retain this privilege, trip takers are expected (read: required) to follow some of the most stringent environmental regulations that the National Park Service (NPS) mandates in managing their land. DVDs on Canyon rules are sent to the permit holders, prior to the trip, with explicit instructions to make sure that all trip participants view it and become familiar with behaviors and norms expected on the trip. In 2008, nearly 4.5 million individuals visited the Grand Canyon. Non-Commercial river day users numbered105, 492, with Commercial day users numbering 114,010; a total of 229, 502 day users on the river.

The trip ideal is a pristine experience for all travelers below the rim. In the Belknap’s Waterproof Grand Canyon River Guide (which many river runners refer to during their trips), details on the geology, natural history and mile maps of the river serve as a reference for the Canyon curious. “A river trip provides a rare opportunity to be a guest in a living plant and wildlife community. Observant river travelers will leave the Canyon with a deepened awareness and respect for nature’s incredible ways.”

The regulations are actually honored – and adhered to. Catering to hikers, river runners, and tourists up on the North or South rim results in an ecological balance act that challenges all concerned. The Park Service has prioritized resource protection and implemented its key programs to maintain the canyon’s natural wonders. The Glen Canyon Dam peak hourly release averages 14,000 cfs (cubic feet per second), with a daily low hourly average release of approximately 6,000 cfs after Spring run-off. The NPS has negotiated high release flows (up to 45,000 cfs) in order to re-establish habitat and restore the original soft sandy beaches created as the sediment is washed downstream. Tamarisk (also known as saltcedar) eradication is ongoing as this invasive species of tree has been dominating the landscape and impeding the growth of native foliage in the Canyon. Flight-free air zones had been legislated by Congress in 1988, preserving the natural soundscape of canyon life.

The reintroduction of the California Condors take precedence over river trips; if the condors are at a selected camp site, boaters are to choose an alternate site so as not to disturb the endangered birds. If the condors arrive in camp, people are required to shoo them away and discourage their habituation to humans. Individuals are expected to be onboard with whatever it takes to bring back these majestic raptors.

Each river trip is accompanied by at least two ravens (seemingly “assigned” by the Park Ranger to groups at the put in at Lee’s Ferry), which are a constant reminder not to leave food out in camps or give the birds easy access to snacks. Boats can be littered with remnants of trail mix scattered while groups hike up to Havasu Falls, blissfully unaware of what mischief “their” ravens are up to. Food and snacks are kept in sealed waterproof ammo (ammunition) cans – that keep the ring-tailed cats at bay as well. These cute relatives to the raccoon (“miner’s cats” – brought in by the old-time miners as pets) are known for their nocturnal camp scavenging.

The goal is to leave a camp site or side hike cleaner than before. River runners work hard to ensure the cleanliness of camp and lunch sites. Heavy duty tarps are set down on the sand or rock ledges before the kitchen tables go in place. All food during meal preparation and eating is meant to fall on the tarp, which should then be examined and disposed of before folding and storing the tarp away. After meals, sand is sifted for any stray food particles to be promptly disposed of in the trash.

As for human waste, it is kept in sealed ammo cans as well. All excrement has to be carried out of the canyon in a sanitary way. “Pack it in – Pack it out.” Enter the “groover” – so named from the early days of river running when one squatted on an ammo can that left grooves in butt cheeks. Nowadays the groover usually comes with a portable toilet seat, with toilet paper and hand soap or sanitizer nearby. Privacy is not necessarily guaranteed, although some sites are more scenic and conducive to pooping in private.

A “day groover” also exists that is rarely set up. Somehow rafters usually learn to hold it until the next camp. Otherwise, digging “cat holes” was no longer permitted, so one needs to bring waste bags to remove the solids and TP (toilet paper). Everyone urinates directly into the river – discreetly or not so discreetly. At water levels averaging 10,000 cfs, dilution really is the solution.

Keeping the kitchen sanitary is a concern to combat any lower GI (gastrointestinal) issues. So a hand washing station is set up – where a foot pump sends out a stream of river water with bleach added, in addition to the antibacterial soap available. The dish cleaning system involves four buckets; one for scraping food off with a brush or soaking, another with hot boiled river water for washing with soap, another for rinsing with hot boiled water and finally the bucket with bleach water for the final soak. Before each of the buckets is emptied back into the river, they are poured through a strainer to catch any stray food particles left floating, which are then deposited in the trash.

All empty cans of food or beer should be crushed, minimizing the space on the boat that carries recyclables. Any ashes from the fire pan are cooled and placed into burlap bags to pack out. Campfires are permitted after October 1 and the dry driftwood is usually easy to find and burns quickly. The wisdom of requiring a tarp on the sand under the fire pans is circumspect, as it quickly becomes speckled with ember holes – and sand isn’t flammable.

Campsites and beaches are scoured for “micro-trash”; bits of paper and plastic that have blown or been washed ashore. All the work and adherence to the regulations is in the best interest of the Canyon and visitors. The privilege of exploring the bottom of the Grand Canyon by boat comes with responsibilities to the desert environment. The idea of a “working vacation” aside, teamwork and camaraderie of like-minded individuals make it a viable routine to care for the land and the river. Diligence is key.

Imagine if even a tiny portion of the discipline and concern for the environment made it back to “reality.” To make a point of caring about the environment on a grander scale, realizing that every positive action - no matter how small – brings awareness and possibility of change. After three weeks, the environmentally-sensitive routine becomes a way of life. No questions. No hassle. Similar to how recycling is becoming a national ingrained habit after a prolonged educational campaign and significant period of time.

Here is the opportunity to live minimally, sleeping under the bright canopy of stars for a succession of canyon nights, hearing the river waves lap gently against the shore or with the roar of the rapids fading into “white noise”. There is a rhythm and flow of river life. It is a magical period of time in which travelers reduce consumption of resources and learn once again how to connect with others without the supposed benefit of television, radio, cell phones, emails and the Internet. Conversations and spontaneous songs (as well as musical accompaniment by harmonica) are the nightly entertainment.

Showers are few and far between in a river with an average temperature of 55 degrees. Rafters jump into the current or a side eddy with biodegradable soap, with a restriction of 100 yards from the nearest creek or stream to be considerate of the aquatic life. Solar showers – and warm water - are luxuries.

Wearing one clean outfit each week certainly cuts down on laundry. Clothes can always be rinsed or pounded by the river’s edge to maintain an acceptable level of cleanliness.

Drinking water is obtained at the put in at Lee’s Ferry, the potable water at Phantom Ranch (a developed site at Mile 88, used as a frequent departure and arrival spot for river passengers), or at certain streams along the way. The rest of the water can be filtered with a hand pump. It is a tedious process. All 5 or 7 gallon water containers are treated with a capful of bleach, just in case.

Wildlife is viewed with respect and awe. The Big Horn Sheep are marveled at from river vantages, as well as the Peregrine Falcons and Canyon Wrens. Bats are visible in the pre-dawn and early twilight hours, darting to and fro while snapping up insects for sustenance. The scorpions like to hide under wetsuits and kayak skirts, and are admired and released safely in the day time. When illuminated by a black light, the scorpions glow an eerie phosphorescent green at night. Many creatures crawl, hop, or scamper by as boaters sleep. There are six species of rattlesnake present in the Canyon, usually lethargic and hopefully docile. Individuals with camp cots may feel slightly snugger than others on the sand with inflatable Paco pads.

Medical issues could be formidable; trips are required to have a satellite phone available in case an emergency evacuation by helicopter is necessary. Being in the backcountry for such an extended period of time requires calculated risks and responsible choices. The majority of casualties in the Canyon are usually related to hiking – and dehydration.

With functional trip details handled, the majority of travelers can expect to be on “river time”, and fully experience the beauty and peace inherent within the Canyon. By being observant and respectful, one can awaken to the sense of awe and the exquisite beauty present. Nature builds cathedrals of the outdoors – vibrant colors, echoing sounds, cerulean blue skies above, and remote buttes blending with the horizon line. Every day brings new wonders of Tapeats Sandstone and Vishnu Schist, Travertine ledges and slot canyons, along with magical waterfalls and crimson monkey flowers within havens of living green in the sun-warmed Canyon. This is a magical place – known to the rafters, the hikers, the photographers, the writers and the myriad of visitors. One visit is enough to understand why the passion for the care of the Grand Canyon runs so deep.

President, conservationist and founder of national parks Theodore Roosevelt expressed an early version of preservation and the “Leave No Trace” philosophy of natural resource management:
"In the Grand Canyon, Arizona has a natural wonder which is in kind absolutely unparalleled throughout the rest of the world. I want to ask you to keep this great wonder of nature as it now is. I hope you will not have a building of any kind, not a summer cottage, a hotel or anything else, to mar the wonderful grandeur, the sublimity, the great loneliness and beauty of the canyon. Leave it as it is. You cannot improve on it. The ages have been at work on it, and man can only mar it."


Submitted for potential publication April 19, 2010

April Update

Hello again, friends and followers!
I received some feedback requesting more posts - so I will plan to update more often. I regret the time lapse, but working six - yes six - different jobs is an organizational challenge - and so time-consuming. But one of the jobs is actually writing - and marketing my work - so I will carry on! Enjoy! And thanks for coming back and checking - and of course, taking the time to read!
Peace out,
Patty

Foiled Again...

Ah, wily Spring - I could sense the green growing colors, taste your sweetness, sway with you in the warm breeze, feel the lift of my spirits - and BAM! Big storm bearing down hard - half a foot of heavy wet snow and blankness cloaked in white from horizon to the end...

Spring At Last!

So it's pretty much Spring around these parts - sort of. We call it "Mud Season" - and the latest challenge is getting in and out of a swampy sucking mud bog that was formerly the driveway. So far - so good - the 4 wheel drives may burn too much gas for my consumption guilt pangs, but they definitely work in "splashing through the mud and the muck". (Country music lyric there - appropriate.)

The bluebirds - harbingers of Spring - are back. Saw my first one today - and a red-winged blackbird as well. Small spurts of joy - and relief. Winter had to come to end - but not quite yet, my husband and native Coloradoan cautions. Get ready for the big dump in May - similar to a few years ago when Salida made national news with it's storm and five feet of heavy wet snow that collapsed the roof of the indoor hot springs pool. Then our pool went topless for the summer. How progressive.

I am craving COLOR! Vibrant hues of red, blue, green and orange. The most depressing aspect of living in the socked-in snowy landscape is the complete absence of color. Besides white, that is. As far as you can see - todos blanca. For months. I am thrilled to even see brown earth as mud appearing. Our house has yet to be stuccoed in color - sage green is my choice. Now it's just the off white/gray of papercrete - inside and out for the most part. Jack finished a few walls with colored limewash - they are pretty mellow shades. But nice.

The scary part of an extended winter is the pack of hungry coyotes coming closer and closer to our animals. Our neighbor's chickens were all slaughtered yesterday - very sad. I am pretty sure I wouldn't be able to handle that kind of massacre. Push me right over the edge.

Compassionate Leadership 2010

Back from an inspiring 5 day seminar in Encino, CA - intense and full of insights and empathy - and surrounded by amazing like-minded individuals who thrive using non-violent communication NVC).

I returned home in a NVC "glow" and immediately missed our magical connections and strong sense of community. I am full of gratitude for my close friends - "Guardian Angel Girls" - who expressed their love and caring in generosity and kindness.

This "Baby Giraffe" is blessed.

Peace,
Patty

Paper Ticket-less - Oh, My!

For all you travellers, here's my letter to Frontier Airlines regarding the latest in airport fiascos. Be warned!


Customer Relations
Frontier Airlines, Inc.
7001 Tower Road
Denver, CO 80249-7312

February 24, 2010

Dear Customer Service Representative:

There are a number of issues I need to address in regards to my most recent flights on February 6 and 11, 2010 on Frontier and Mexicana airlines respectively.

First off, I admit to my blunder in leaving my paper ticket in the car as I rushed to the airport to make my flight. That said, the reason why paper tickets are barely in existence today – and an item that I have never had to keep track of or use in over 12 years – is precisely due to this scenario. However, the uproar that greeted my arrival paper ticket-less at the ticket counter was unprecedented.

The fact that I had the purchase confirmation and the itinerary on my Blackberry and all the identification required was of no consequence. I was informed that I needed to buy another ticket – that day – for the same flights that I had already paid for. Having no choice, I duly purchased the tickets – after a forty five minute delay and much agonizing by the Frontier representative. I was handed the enclosed “Lost Ticket” form and advised to fill it out and send the original ticket so I could receive reimbursement. (In the meantime, my disabled elderly mother waited for me at the gate where she flew in to from New York and was in a state of panic and confusion when I was unable to meet her there as planned.)

A short email notification or FYI, along with a stern reminder that paper tickets are viewed the same as “cash” would have been appreciated. While I viewed this scenario as obviously my error initially, I believe the following issues are justified in examining.

For what reason was I issued a paper ticket – and charged an extra $26 to ship it to me as I later discovered – while on that same day I made flight reservations for my mother Joan E. Lataille on the same flights to and from Mexico on Mexicana - and she was issued an electronic ticket with no worries or fees attached? The only difference was that she flew from New York to meet with me in Denver for us to fly together to Cabo San Jose. Please tell me that Denver has the same capabilities to handle e-tickets as does New York.

Secondly, when we were both checking in to depart from Cabo, there was a sizeable delay again – caused by the fact that I now did not have a ticket to Mexico City - even though I held the paper one the airline rep in Denver had given me (as if it were as valuable as gold.) For some reason, the flight segment to Mexico City had been voided – leaving me stranded in Cabo and my disabled mother flying alone to N.Y. Unless I purchased another ticket – which of course I did, having no other choice.

So at this point, I’d purchased the same ticket twice, and then one of the flight segments for the third time. Naturally, I am slightly disturbed by this scenario and would appreciate a resolution and refund as soon as possible. I am enclosing the “lost” ticket and two versions of the refund form.

In addition, my frequent flier Early Returns # is 10010587705. If you would be willing to credit my flight miles to that account, I would greatly appreciate it.

I am still flying Frontier – I leave for Los Angeles on March 4 – yet I am a little leery of showing up at the airport for another “surprise.”

Thank you for your review of this matter and your prompt response.




Ms. Patricia LaTaille

Hasta La Vista, Suckers.

Time Share Beware.

Ok – so not a timeshare exactly – a “Club Membership” to be precise.

Young, in love, blissful honeymooners, unaware and feeling the buzz from celebratory champagne.

Fresh meat for the El Presidente Intercontinental Club representative sharks.

Exhausted – two high profile demanding jobs. Working with the public – management position in a ski resort. The other – counseling alienated and at-risk teens. In the middle of constructing new home together. Literally – block by papercrete block.

In desperate need to unwind, relax, get away. Finally. Nine months after the wedding – constant work, building, saving dollars – trying not to become a statistic. (Fifty percent of all couples divorce after building a home together.)

Big splurge – all inclusive resort in Cabo San Lucas. Far from the norm. Husband raised on ranch in southern Colorado – “vacation”, an alien concept. Wife – backpacker, camping, hostels, low-budget adventure travel.

Big surprise – “All Inclusive” excludes activities. No snorkeling, touring and seaside excursions for them. No extra cash.

But wait! Free tours, car rentals, underwater moped riding – just to attend a presentation.

The concept: One needs a vacation every year. Justifies saving money while spending money. All part of The Club membership.

Naïve. Unfamiliar with the hard-sell approach. Sign now - or lose out on tremendous opportunity. Have another drink. Margaritas for all!

Excitement. Bells ringing. Champagne. No need to read fine print. Trust – taken for granted. Many points equal muchos vacations. Thirty years worth. Let the fun continue!

Next day. Buyers’ remorse plus hangover. What disposable income? Bad idea. Letter to cancel. No way. But can reduce membership to “Newly-wed / Nearly Dead” level. No mention of time limit reduction.

Honeymoon is over. Time for leisure – not in near future. Exceeded budget and labor intensive home construction continues. Stressful employment. Major medical issues – knee reconstruction and hysterectomy. No time – no cash.


Mother agrees to finance Mom & Daughter get away. Back to Cabo, No upgrade. No obvious member benefits – what benefits? No communication/updates from The Club for five years. Easily forgotten in mad rush of life.

Hotel run-down. Understaffed. No washcloths or spoons. Sewerage smell in bathroom. Not impressed. Club rep meets for breakfast. Quizzical. Why no vacation until now?

Hello? U.S. economy in the proverbial toilet. Struggling to make ends meet. Toyota with 235K miles dies. Working three different jobs. Not all rich Americans.

Uh oh. Breaking news: Membership good for five years – not thirty. 4400 points – good for 10 weeks at high season, 25 weeks at low season – unused – expires in May – in three months. All – the – points – gone. Four thousand smackeroonies – wasted.

Shock. Immediate loss of appetite – unheard of here at all-inclusive eat, drink and leave fat resort.

Some – Notice – Would - Have – Been - Appreciated. Any indication that points expire when? Why no contact? “You need to call us.”

Seriously? No updates, changes in benefits in 5 years? Oh – wait. $59 original room charges now $79. $40 food and drinks daily rate to $43 per person.

Thanks. A lot.

Print out contract. Clause #2: Expires 5 years from given date. Missed that one. Definitely not discussed at purchase.

Not happy. Husband contacted. Kindred surprise /shock. $4K high price to pay – 10% of current income. Frustrated. Club reps: “Too bad, so sad.”

But wait: The perfect solution. Renew membership and transfer expiring points. Viola’! Has to be done today. Thirty years for mere $10K. Super Special Deal.

No familiarity with phrase: “Cut our losses.”

So try “Una Fiesta Grande” in May. Family, friends; Ixtapa in May. On us.

Adios.

Published in the April 2010 Colorado Central Magazine.

Updates

Just a note to let my readers know that I have now posted all of my published work - including some essays pending publication. Of course, I am in the process of working on a few more articles, so check back to view such stories as "Psycho Squatter Situation" and "Crestonians Carrying Crystals."

First I have to head off to warmer climes (See my "Seasonal Effects" story) - and then to New York for "Family Time" and good eats!

Hope all is groovy on your ends.
Peace,
Patty

Satellite Shelter

Local Animal Shelter Updates by this animal lover (and former AVHS Board President and occasional volunteer)

Animal lovers can soon look forward to "window shopping" for cats and a retail center offering a variety of pet supplies and animal related gifts. The Ark-Valley Humane Society (AVHS) plans to open a satellite shelter in Poncha Springs in the near future. Having this facility will give Poncha Springs and Salida area residents direct access to AVHS’ many services, as well as to immediately address the need for care imposed by the large number of homeless cats in Chaffee County. The satellite shelter will be located in Poncha Springs on Highway 285, near the intersection of Highway 50.

“AVHS is excited for the opportunity to do more for all the residents and animals it is dedicated to serving,” explains Shelter Director Michelle Wayland. As the shelter director since 2003, Wayland has witnessed many positive advances in serving the local homeless animal population. In 2006, Chaffee County residents voted to provide operating funds to AVHS through increased taxes. As a result, AVHS operational expenses are covered, enabling the expansion to serve a greater number of county animals and residents.

To begin operations of the satellite facility, major renovations and the addition of a small dog wing are needed, at the cost of $275,000. Currently, AVHS and Mountain Shadows Animal Hospital (MSAH) combined do not have the capacity to accommodate all homeless cats in our county. Stray cats and dogs found in southern Chaffee County will be brought to the satellite facility for potential reclaim. Lost and found services will aim to reunite lost pets with their owners, and unclaimed animals will be assessed and placed up for adoption. Stray dogs will be kept at the satellite facility five days for possible reclaim by an owner. Unclaimed dogs will be transferred to the Buena Vista facility to be offered for adoption. These dogs will be housed indoors in a room with sound proofing and will only be permitted to exercise in an outdoor yard one or two at a time, under staff supervision, for short periods of time.

The satellite facility will serve as a no-kill adoption center for unclaimed stray cats. (A no-kill shelter will decide to euthanize an animal only if it is too sick to be treated or too aggressive to be suitable for adoption.) AVHS currently saves 96% of pets in its care, which is exceptional compared to the majority of other Colorado shelters. Prior-to-adoption services will include medical care, vaccinations, micro-chipping and spay/neuter. The satellite shelter will also be a resource to provide pet-related services to south county residents. Pet licensing and microchipping will be available. Low-income Chaffee County residents will be able to pick up discount coupons to spay or neuter their pets. Feral cat information and Trap/Neuter/Return (TNR) program support will be available. The TNR program offers free vaccinations and spaying or neutering of feral cats living in Chaffee County. Pet owners will have access to pet behavior information and support.

You can reach Shelter Director Michelle Wayland at (719) 395-2737 shelterdirector@chaffeewireless.net or visit the AVHS website at www.ark-valley.org

Published in the February 2010 Colorado Central magazine

The Goats are Out!

As winter progressed, the solid blanket of snow stayed for one month, two, three, four - and then entering into March, finally began to thaw on warmer days. So now it was mud season. While it was wonderful to see a different color other than the absence of color, the deep brown/black squishy sticky substance presented new challenges in our driveway expeditions. But as the snow receded, there were signs of grasses, yucca plant and other plant life that had made it through the winter. As we had run out of hay in early March, we decided to take the goats for a walk to give them the opportunity to find some roughage for their diet.

So off we went down the driveway in a warm, sunny, snow-melting afternoon, with five goats, two dogs and the cat traipsing in tow. We stopped at plowed and cleared out areas to let the goats graze and gallop around. Jack and I tossed the stick for Maya, while Kharma and Machka chased and tackled each other in the soft slush. We saw a few trucks pass by and waved, but evidently one driver only noted the herd of goats.

When we returned to the house and the goats raced into their corral, Jack received a phone call from the ski area where he worked. “Your goats are out,” his co-worker said anxiously. “Amber, a friend of yours who owns the Villa Grove Trade (General Store) called and said that someone called her to report seeing your goats out on your land.” Jack laughed and reassured her that all was OK; we had just got back from a walk with them. After hanging up, we heard a truck coming up the driveway and Neighbor Dave knocked on the door.

After inquiring where the goats were, he relaxed and said that he had come by to check because Amber had called him to see if he could herd them back in. Never having herded goats (an East Coast city boy), he was curious to learn how – and was game to try. Dave also shared with us that there had been mountain lion activity right above us on another neighbor’s property – that was why he rushed over. We thanked him profusely and marveled at the effectiveness of the Villa Groovy Help/Crisis Line Network.

This is an excerpt from my book-in-progress - "Little House On the Modern Prairie".

Rowing Rocks!

The physical reminders are fading, but thankfully not the afterglow and memories of a “trip of a lifetime”. My heels have healed from the painful cracks, which subsided after I superglued the worst of them. The calluses on the palms of my hands softened and peeled, separated once again from the oars and daily rowing. Not too long ago, I was suntanned and harder muscled when I extended my Colorado summer into mid-October – no small feat when the snow was already on the peaks. As the only female “boatman” on a Grand Canyon river trip – 21 days on the wild whitewater of the Colorado River – I experienced one of the most sought-after river trips in the world. It was my second pilgrimage to this Mecca for river runners – and I cheerfully dismissed the scrapes, cuts and bruises experienced alongside the Colorado River bed.

When sixteen people are thrown together on an adventuresome three week trip, (most who had never met - and had no idea of each other’s experience with whitewater), it makes for interesting group dynamics. The majority of the guys were respectful and friendly, keeping comments and conversations appropriate and for the most part – female friendly. Since I would be out there rowing big water with them, most of them included me as part of the team, just another person who could row a boat – gender neutral.

I enjoy the physical act of rowing a raft; I find that there is no better exercise for strengthening your abdominal, shoulder, back, leg and arm muscles. It’s an all-over body work-out. Rowing makes me feel strong – and gives me actual upper body strength and muscle definition. Plus you burn serious calories while at the oars, especially in flat water.

Having been a certified commercial whitewater guide for a few seasons on the Arkansas River in central Colorado, I knew how intense the work-out would be in big water. Knowing that fear manifests itself in me by the feeling that I want to “puke,” I felt nauseous pretty much the entire time on upper class rapid days. On the plus side, I did lose almost 10 pounds during those three weeks (even while eating peanut butter and Nutella sandwiches) and could fit in my “skinny” jeans again. In fact, I could literally put my pants on – zip them up – then just slide them off without unzipping. That was a thrill in itself.

I came late to boating; it was a major lifestyle change for me. At age 34, I left the cushy (read: chubby) corporate world - and a secure paycheck - to become a river and rock climbing guide. These professions did not come easily to me; learning to tie knots, handling the oars and climbing ‘real rock” that wasn’t in a gym, were not skills I excelled at - by any means. Plus I hated being cold – on the rocks or in the water. It took many days and perseverance for the training and “mileage” to pay off. Initially I was frequently worn out by being physical all day and frustrated with my performance under pressure. It was challenging to be on the move constantly.

But the best part of all the outdoor exertion was that I could literally eat anything I wanted – and more! I kept losing weight – no matter what I consumed. (My grocery bill was not congruent with my tiny paycheck. Yet a girl’s got to eat!) Hunger pains would wake me up at night during river guide training. Some nights I had to get up and down a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream just to get back to sleep.

Facing down big water is scary, challenging, and definitely adrenaline pumping. The rating system for rapids in the Grand Canyon is different from the standard Class I to V (1 to 5). Rapids begin at Class I (1) and peak at Class X (10). My personal goal was to row or paddle all the rapids over Class VI (6) on my second trip in the Canyon.

The easiest part of being a “boatman” was rowing the rapids. Successful runs are based on the set-up and keeping the boat angled straight up to the huge waves. (Staying in the current and “following the bubble line” was the biggest challenge for me. I worked harder than most to maintain forward movement.)

I wanted to hold my own on the river trip. That meant rowing steadily to keep up with the group and avoid getting stuck in the eddies, managing to lift heavy gear that a guy could pick up easily, successfully self-rescuing after a paddleboat flip in a Class VII (7) rapid, and in addition to “no primping”, you definitely did not look for help or complain about being tired or the lack of sleep.

Having suffered through four months of intense pain from a “nerve compression injury” earlier in the year, (which took me off my snowboard for almost the entire ski season), I had concerns about my neck, shoulder and arm strength holding out for this trip. I was only able to start getting back in shape in late July, and our trip put in the river on Sept. 23. I turned 42 on that day and wore my “Birthday Tiara” proudly as I rowed, even if I was feeling rather decrepit at the time. It had been seven years since I had been a full time river guide, and I had to prove to myself – and the others – that I was up for a trip of this magnitude.

And I was! Rowing the rapids was only part of the unforgettable adventure. My boat came through upright and carried me safely through the Seventh Natural Wonder of the World. Feeling buff, browned, and beautiful (but in desperate need of a hot shower), I returned home – and it was back to life – back to reality. Less than two weeks later – now back in “civilization” - my life situation had shifted from rowing Class X (10) rapids to recuperating in a hospital bed. I endured an emergency hysterectomy due to an endometrioma (tumor) on my right ovary that had partially ruptured while I was on the river trip. The source of the chronic mysterious pain was identified as an ovary that was five times its’ normal size. The intense pain I felt at times was related to the partial rupture of the tumor, which could have been life-threatening on an extended river trip in the backcountry. Just as in rowing the rapids, medical issues turned out to be about “luck” and timing.

Life lessons learned were:
Expect the unexpected.
Expend the effort.
Row hard - for fitness and adventure.

Rowing reminds me that life is good - on and off the river.

Submitted and pending potential publication in Chicken Soup for the Soul – Exercise & Fitness - submitted Jan. 2010

The Bridesmaid from Hell

Usually when you fly thousands of miles to be in a wedding party, someone (maybe not the bride) is willing to pick you up. Especially when cash flow is tight and taking a taxi or airline shuttle in New York City is prohibitively expensive. Taking into account that you are expected to shell out $400+ for the coast (CA) to coast (NY) airfare, $300- 400 bucks for the generally hideous gown you will only wear once, $30-40 for shoes dyed to match, $50 or so for a manicure and hairstyle, plus the gift that has to, at the minimum, pay for the cost of the per person dinner plate fee ($100+), and it’s a costly endeavor. Never mind the time off from work and flying to NYC in January – the bride is a childhood girlfriend and I was honored to be asked to stand up for her at her wedding.

My parents were out of town being snowbirds in Florida, all of my girlfriends were busy with work and kids, brother and sister were unavailable; and so somewhat miffed (“Doesn’t anyone want to see me?!), I contacted a former boyfriend and he was kind enough to pick me up at La Guardia airport and take me to my parent’s dark empty house. Ok then, the bride-to-be lived directly across the street – she’d be happy to hear from me. I was excited to be back home and ready to meet up with my long-time friends.

Maryann (MA) was happy enough to hear that I had arrived – the rehearsal dinner had been a few days before, so I missed that – but nothing was really planned until the wedding two nights hence. Well, should we plan to get together? After all, I was here for her and to help out with her “Big Day.” With a lackadaisical “Oh, OK – guess you can come with me to the mall tomorrow” response, I hung up and called a few of my other friends in the wedding party. Plans were made to meet after the trip to the mall for manicures and female bonding time. I knew that I had to fit social time in with picking my parents up from the airport in the late afternoon, but it all seemed “do-able”.

My brother arrived home late that night and left me a note saying that I could borrow his car in the morning to go visit MA, but had to have it back by 2 p.m. so he could go to work. He needed his EZ toll pass to cruise over the Throgs Neck Bridge to his job in the Bronx. Ok – this was going to be tricky – but I guessed I could be back in time and take my parent’s car to pick them up at the airport. Then rush over to get my nails done with the girls, a little late, but hey, it could work. Of course, I would need to get back from the mall to my friend MA’s apartment where I planned to park my brother’s car, but I could work that out. It was still a strong possibility of a plan.

So the next day I drove over to the MA’s new apartment, two towns over in Long Island traffic. I checked out her soon-to-be-married shared living quarters and then we jumped in her car, chattering away, and headed to the Roosevelt Field mall. After arriving at the mall, I looked at a clock and realized that my time there was going to be a lot shorter than I had thought originally. Ok, so now I needed to leave the mall in an hour and the bride had just started shopping for her wedding night lingerie. Fortunately, her fiancée showed up just in time to help her with the not-so-unpleasant task, and I had to beg to borrow MA’s car so that I could get my brother’s car back to him on time. This was becoming a logistical nightmare.

None too happy with the prospect of lending me her car, MA handed me the keys and asked me to park directly in front of her apartment, so she could find her car quickly and head to the nail salon. The last thing I heard as I raced out of there was “Do you remember where we parked?”

Of course I did, I thought, while doing the mall speed walk. Directly outside the entrance to Macy’s, a few rows over from the middle. No problemo. Quick as a bunny, I’d get to MA’s place, and then return my brother’s car and everything would be peachy.

Except I couldn’t find her car. Anywhere. I searched every row, every spot, looking for that green Buick Skylark with the fuzzy stuffed animals in the back window. Walking miles outside in the gray chilly day searching, time ticking away, me tearing my hair out, and with feet heavy with dread on the cold pavement, I made my way to Mall Security, certain that the unthinkable had happened – someone had stolen the bride’s car the day before her wedding! There was no other rational explanation. I had walked for hours, and then Mall Security had driven me up and down every row in the enormous parking lot, all to no avail. Stolen cars were a common occurrence at L.I. malls, so the officers did not overly question my rationale.

Somberly realizing that my brother was going to be pissed, my parents left stranded at the airport, MA unable to get her nails done, and my friends upset when I didn’t show up as planned, I was completely stressed and sobbing by the time the policeman approached me to fill out a stolen automobile report. I reported her green Buick Skylark as stolen, gave the police her name and address, had no clue what the license plate number was and asked to borrow the phone to let my family know what had happened. My brother had left already, having taken my parent’s car to work and was not happy about being stuck in the toll lines on the bridge. I had to page my parents waiting at the airport. “Well, it seems as if you have more important things to worry about than picking us up right now,” my mother commented. I then had to track my sister down at school (Special Education teacher) and tell her she had to go to the airport to pick up our parents. Then I had to leave a message for the bride that her car was stolen on the eve of her wedding day. And me? I was stuck there until someone could work it in their schedule to pick me.

Not having eaten in hours and having hypoglycemia to boot, I was shaking & extremely upset when the security officer approached me again and asked if I wouldn’t want to just try one more time to look for the car. The stolen car report had pulled up a different car on the computer – a new forest green Nissan Sentra with the license plate number. I stared at him blankly. “Is this guy serious? Does he think I don’t know what car I rode in to the mall? This is crazy.”

And so to humor him and having nothing else to do but wait, I got back in the security car and watched silently as he searched the aisles. He pulled behind a small green Sentra, looked at the keys in my hand and gently suggested I try the key in the door. “No, that’s not it,” I said, shaking my head. He told me to “just try it.” I stumbled out his car and numbly approached the unfamiliar green car. I put the key in the lock, looked back at him to say “I told you so” and the key turned. I fell against the car in total shock.

Did MA get a new car and I didn’t even realize it the entire ride to the mall? Apparently so. “I’m an idiot!” and “Oh, no – this is bad. Everyone is going to be mad at me now,” were my first thoughts. I turned to wave weakly at the ever-helpful security guard and he drove away smiling. How was I going to explain all this? I half–wished at that point that the car had been stolen, so I wouldn’t look like a total fool.

I climbed heavily into MA’s new car and drove it to her apartment – four hours late – and as she wasn’t home, I parked her non-stolen automobile and headed home in my brother’s car. Wiped out from the ordeal and lack of food, I was weeping as I pulled in the driveway. This was a classic idiot trip. My family was actually pretty nice, all things considered.

My friends were not. As I started to make my apology phone calls, one of my close girlhood friends called in a rage. How dare I stand her up, with her waiting with a three year old at a nail salon for hours? And then put the bride-to-be in a panic, telling her that her new car had been stolen? The bride’s father (a policeman) had heard the report and called her in a fury. How could I be so stupid? So inconsiderate? What was wrong with me?

And just for good measure, she informed me that I was now uninvited to the next day’s bridesmaid’s breakfast and our ritual of getting ready together with the bride. Because I had upset everyone so much, I could just plan to join them later for the staged photos. In short, don’t bother to call anyone else, no one wanted to hear from me that night.

I spent the rest of that night with my parents, silent and picking at the food on my plate during dinner. I went to bed in tears and called my (now former) husband sniffling. He was sympathetic and somewhat angry with how my friends had reacted. My Long Island friends were not always known for their kindness and understanding. The worse thing you could be to this group of friends is an inconvenience and a burden, and that day I had been both.

Having had minimal sleep, I walked across the street to MA’s family house the next day and joined the bridesmaids. Those not directly involved in the previous day’s fiasco were friendly enough, and MA gave me a somewhat forgiving smile.

To make up for my unintentional transgressions, I resolved to be the best bridesmaid ever. I’d been in this role before and knew that I could pull it off perfectly. Super-attentive to the bride and accommodating to everyone else, I pasted a big smile on my face for the photographer. We soon finished with the photos and headed to the church in the cold rain and darkening gloom. Husbands and partners arrived in their finery and smiled as the beautiful bride and her maids lined up to make that long walk down the aisle. My husband had just flown in and gave me the “thumbs up” signal as my turn approached. I had two groomsmen on each arm as I walked towards the altar and we were moving as a team, smiling and inclining our heads to family and guests. I performed flawlessly in my role, not even teetering on the high heels I wasn’t accustomed to wearing. More photos and then off to the limo for the ride to the reception.

Now that the major stress was over, it was time to make toasts, drink and be merry during the limo ride. (Sort of like going to the prom again with these girls, although this time we were of legal age.) It turned out there was too much time to party. Stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Southern State parkway, eastbound in heavy rain and dead on in rush hour at 5:30 p.m. on a Friday night, the 20 minute trip took an hour and a half.

Since my one friend was still shooting me daggers and giving me the cold shoulder, I chatted it up with Mike, MA’s older brother. He had been a good friend of my brother and I’d known him since MA and I had played Barbie dolls together. A big guy at 6’6” and a New York City Transit cop to boot, , Mike was tossing down various cocktails and generously pouring me an endless stream of cheap champagne. I figured the best way to survive this tension was to get drunk. I was planning on the “happy- dancing on stage with band” alcoholic intake. Instead I stumbled out of the limo drunk off my butt, well into the “getting sick” stage of drinking. Not cool.

I headed off as inconspicuously as possible to the ladies room, lurching with eyes closed as my helpful husband supported me. I faintly heard a few catty remarks, to which my husband shot back “This wouldn’t have happened if you all hadn’t been so mean to her.” In the bathroom, I suffered at the porcelain altar, sobbing incoherently, with makeup running down my face and my stunning hairdo in shambles. One of my long time friends Monica, who’d been in this position with me numerous times before, sighed and helped me not to be so completely pathetic.

The wedding party members were being summoned en masse, to be presented to the crowd by the DJ as they entered the reception hall. There was no way I was in any condition to be seen, and someone dragged me to a tiny coatroom/parlor, where there was a loveseat that I collapsed heavily on. I remember being told to stay there and covered up with a coat. As the night wore on, the door would open and various coats were tossed over my inert form. Once in awhile, a family member or friend would come in to check on me and I heard Mike snickering in the hallway with my brother in tow.

I heard snippets of various conversations through the painful haze that was my reality. “Can you believe this? I thought we got this out of our systems in college. Now look at her – she’s 28 and still can’t hold her alcohol.”

“Some bridesmaid. Thank God she’s not in my wedding party.”

“First she freaks out the bride, telling her that her car is stolen; now she passes out at her wedding. Great friend.”

I groaned inwardly – and probably outwardly as well. This was the worst. Someday I was going to have to laugh about this, but that would be a long time in coming.

Finally having rid myself of enough alcohol in one of the most unpleasant ways possible, I managed to stumble out for the last twenty minutes of the reception, which mainly consisted of avoiding friends and family members and saying good-bye to the bride and groom. I’m sure I appeared before them as the wedding hag, no photographs of me necessary in the wedding aftermath.

The next day I was on an early flight, winging my way back to California with many regrets and nursing a deadly hangover. There had to be some kharmic foreshadowing in my latest fiasco. I couldn’t forget that no one wanted to claim me at the airport before my legendary slide to bridesmaid hell began.

Pending Publication - January 2010

Bill Forrest – Inventor Extraordinaire

Greetings, all! Through the research of this article a few years back, Bill and Rosa became my friends - and solid community members in the wonderful world of Salida. We have had an epic snowshoe adventure together - complete with me getting my Subaru stuck in snowdrifts, not once but twice. Both Bill and Rosa were kind enough to dig me (and my German Shepherd "Ponyboy") out, with patience and the grace not to mention my "rookieness" in the world of winter transportation. Together they make a fantastic team, and are devout and talented individuals who bring much to the world around them.

Ask Bill Forrest – inventor of world-renowned climbing gear and current designer and field tester of Mountain Safety Research (MSR) (a.k.a. Cascade Designs) snowshoes what his take on good gear is and he’ll insist it’s all about performance. “As a user,” Forrest says, “I hate for gear to fall apart on me, especially in the back country. I want my gear to function. Who wants to skitter off a traverse in a snowshoe? I can do better.”

Note the emphasis on “I”. Forrest’s statement is not just ego-serving – he has done better. He’s created some of the best gear on the market – uses it – and gets paid well for his designs. He designed MSR’s “Lightning Ascent” snowshoe with the patented “Televator” (wire heel lifter designed to ease the strain on your calf muscles on ascents), which is currently a hot model on the snowshoe circuit. The preferred Women’s model is popular as well. It’s designed to meet the particular needs of women, as it’s tuned to a woman’s gait and anatomy.

“Customers love gadgets, whether they work or not,” says Forrest. “That’s why getting it right is so important, especially if you’re manufacturing equipment for people to hang their lives on.”

Your life may not be hanging by the traction blade of a snowshoe – yet -- but Forrest has adapted and improved numerous equipment designs, so that if you were left hanging on any of his gear, you’d be in a good position.

This genius gear head doesn’t want to just change the world – he’s determined to make it better. The kick ass climbing gear he created was only the beginning. Forrest’s six snowshoe model designs in the last decade certainly improved the overall snowshoe situation on the trails and in the backcountry. (MSR’s breakthrough Denali design was one of his brainchildren, which American climbing legend Jim Bridwell endorses as “the one that outperforms all others”.) Forrest is also pretty hip on the marketing end of the outdoor industry, which he says affects what recreationists buy and wear. “The marketing pitch has to be successful – it doesn’t matter how good your gear is. Without good marketing to the right audience, it won’t sell.”

Forrest was the founder, owner and director of Forrest Mountaineering, a company that specialized in designing high end equipment for technical mountain climbers that was in business for 20 years. He reveled in his own hands-on learning environment and manufacturing process plant. He literally absorbs materials information – and if he can dream it up – it can usually be made with the materials and connections he envisioned. In 1968, he started his company in the basement of a huge old rambling house in Denver that he ran as boardinghouse/think tank for climbers – all the better to run field trials with. Climbers needed the gear – and he needed the feedback. “I knew I wasn’t the only one having these gear issues,” he explained.

Forrest maintains a low profile for someone who’s been developing new inventions in the world of gear for nearly 40 years. His climbing equipment designs won international design awards, with some of the gear now on display in the Smithsonian Institute. He’s a legendary climber with numerous first ascents on several continents; ULI BIAHO in the Himalayas – regarded as “the hardest sustained rock climb in the world”, the East Face of Baboquivari Peak in Arizona, where he hacked his approach with a machete and confronted a mountain lion on a tiny ledge; and in Colorado -- the intimidating Painted Wall and Wild Bill’s Wall in the Black Canyon of the Gunnison, as well as the first solo ascent of the Diamond – the East Face of Long’s Peak –- all of which give you a glimpse of this man’s imposing climbing credentials.

“I want the gear to work better. If I take a fall, I don’t want to get hurt,” Forrest explains his motivation for designing gear in pursuit of his climbing passion. As a former English teacher and writer turned inventor, Forrest doesn’t exactly fit the archetypical gear designer/engineer type – but his linear thinking process does. First he identifies the problem – such as why early snowshoe designs didn’t have a real grip on the snow situation – then his creative problem solving mode kicks into high gear and he starts designing a solution – a better product that actually works the way it should.

“I tinker with it until I get close to what I want. Then I make a prototype and build it to suit my specs,” Forrest says. This is a man who knows materials – how to make stuff – and how to test it for safety –so you can trust his expertise.

Those who get to play in the outdoors as professionals -- and the rest of us – appreciate Forrest hanging his rear on the line for our safety. Forrest Mountaineering gear that he invented, designed and produced 30 years ago is still in use – and in demand – today. Jim Bridwell’s endorsement continues with: “That without a doubt, Forrest Mountaineering equipment is unexcelled in both functional design and durability. It’s a great relief to not have to worry about my equipment breaking in a life or death situation.”

As Gerry Roach, who summited Mount Everest in 1983, succinctly stated, “When I’m going for the summit, I want Forrest gear; it’s already been there.”

Just so you know who to thank when you’re stepping into that comfortable climbing harness while you plan your route up the rock – Bill Forrest is the man. He came up with the swami belt with adjustable leg loops made of nylon webbing after he began climbing in Germany with the standard safety harness of the time – 17 ft. of 1 inch tubing wrapped around his waist. A few good eye-opening “whippers” later, and the climbing community started seeing a newly designed harness showing up on the rock.

“The answers always come if I know what the problem is,” Forrest explains. He lives by the quote; “To believe in your heart that what is true for you is true for all mankind – that is genius. “ Roughly attributing the source to Ralph Waldo Emerson, Forrest pauses. “Mankind may not recognize the gear for what it is initially, but they come around.”

“Necessity is the mother of invention” -- Forrest followed that quaint adage as he invented the Pin Bin – the first piton and nut gear “rack” (with a coat hanger and a sling design) - because his gear was tangling up on climbs. He also spent one hellacious night in a hanging belay seat on a big wall climb and came back to his shop and designed a hammock that worked for actual dozing during overnight bivouacs. Having had a wall hammer break mid-climb, he replaced original wooden hammer handles with a fiberglass design that was lighter and wouldn’t get trashed. Forrest’s Daisy Chain design came to him when he was struggling with haul bags on a big wall climb. He needed an “infinitely adjustable” nylon wedding chain that enabled him to anchor quickly and haul efficiently. He’s a man who can see the need and fill it.

Safety and comfort were his big motivators in improving the climbing experience. Never wanting to have an adventurer get hurt in his gear, Forrest subjected his inventions to rigorous testing by hardcore climbers, including himself. He’s quick to credit his climbing partners, along with the engineers and designers he’s worked with, for his success as a product designer.

Ray Jardine, world class adventurer, inventor of the “Friends” and early climbing partner and housemate of Forrest, describes him as “a landmark in the history of Colorado climbing … on the walls he was virtually unstoppable. He is among the era's greatest manufacturing minds, [having] developed many new and original products.”

Jardine worked for a short while in Forrest’s basement making the first few batches of Foxheads and Copperheads for commercial sale. He credits Forrest for teaching him “to think outside the box -- to think of possibilities beyond the norm.” He added, “This mindset set the stage for my own inventions, including the Friends, which Bill very kindly allowed me to prototype in his shop.”

Field tests – a source of excitement of the unknown – could be epic, as when Forrest tested the first harness design on a multi-day climb in Zion and discovered that the buckle on his leg loops wouldn’t stay cinched. Upon his return home, he designed his own buckle that exceeded the Union of International Alpinists Association (UIAA) standards and is the only one fully rated for safety with a single pass.

In 1969, Forrest’s creation of the Copperhead, a single cable climbing nut with a malleable copper or aluminum head, changed big wall aid climbing forever. He wanted to control the head of the nut with a stiffer wire, since the supple slings were too limp for his liking. This “bashie” was originally designed as protection in thin cracks for free climbing, but became internationally recognized when climbers – mainly the infamous Yosemite wall rats - began smashing the heads into shallow cracks (“Copperheading”) for aid climbing.

In 1985, Forrest Mountaineering came out with the Triton – one piece of gear that functions as a combination nut, belay plate and rappel device – which evolved from Forrest’s desire to minimize the amount of gear he carried.

Go to the rockclimbing.com web site and you’ll find climbers waxing poetic about their Forrest gear or looking for a Mjollner hammer or the Lifetime ice ax with interchangeable picks – both released in the 1970’s and early 80’s.

“Bill Forrest was way ahead of his time,” writes Gambler – Lead Climber - in the rockclimbing.com web forum. “His harnesses, hammers, hammocks and copperheads were definitely state of the art.”

Having sold his company to Olsen Industries in 1985, and ready to embark on a new adventure, Forrest started up ForrestSmith with a partner and developed a new snowshoe design that got some immediate notice. Two weeks after introducing the snowshoe at a trade show, the president and Research and Development manager of MSR contacted him with an offer to buy the design rights and hire him full time to focus on snowshoes in their R& D department.

The desire to “build a better snowshoe” spurred him to leave Denver after 30 years and find a place with better access to the mountains. “I hated being in the heavy traffic on the Front Range – it was hard to get out and back in the same day for field trials. Now I can be up at a trailhead in twenty minutes. You can’t beat Salida – good clean air and easy access.”

With the Gear Muse hovering nearby and his belief in a higher power that has carried him through hundreds of close calls, Forrest is ready to sketch ideas with pen and paper by the bed at night and has a steadfast conviction in their success. He’s positive that with enough thought process and a strong belief system, he will solve the problem. “I’ve got certain design ideas constantly cooking in my head,’ he confides with a smile. “Part of my religion is being in the mountains with wide open spaces and fresh air – that helps a lot.”

Long, lean and lanky at age 69, Forrest has been married to petite Rosa, his hiking and snowshoeing partner, for 17 years. His work in Research & Development still intrigues him – and with over 100 product designs on the market and 17 patents with one pending, it’s no wonder that Cascade Designs tried to hang on to its R&D guru. His recent retirement from MSR means more time to play in the mountains.

With his vitality and activity level – he recently hiked all the fifty-four 14ers and the 500 mile Colorado Trail – while living in and telecommuting from his “Happy Trails Hacienda” in Salida, Colorado, Forrest isn’t anywhere near grizzled old age. He knows he’s living the good life – complete with a true vegan diet. Forrest always has his eye out for the possibility of climbing new routes – why mess around with the old ones, he asks – and sees retirement as an adventure he can share with his friends and the artistic Rosa. He’ll be repeating the “Salida Slam” – climbing the 22peaks visible from his home, and plans on authoring a book and more climbing articles.

Pending Publication - January 2010

Seasonal Effects

In the high country, Fall sneaks in with a coat similar to a tawny tiger, striping the leaves yellow and orange and red. Following its’ slightly subversive arrival, Fall achieves perfection by contrasting the comforting earth tones of sage green and tawny grasses here in the San Luis Valley (SLV) with dramatic color. The oak brush streams along in blazing crimson glory and the golden ribbons of aspens and fiery cottonwoods light up the landscape.

Add to this a brilliant blue Colorado sky and sunshine with pleasing warmth, yet a slight reminder chill that lingers and spreads into a crisp cold evening. Welcome to the change of seasons. It’s all downhill from here.

I’m still recovering from the effects of the chilly carnage of 2008, the first “real Colorado winter” – one that the SLV old timers hadn’t experienced for twenty years or more. Three feet of snow on the level for four months surrounding our home, the bare blinding blanca landscape a constant presence - an adversary - in our lives. Sub-zero temperatures were no longer a novelty, but a fact of life. Denial did not work. It just left me stranded without a shovel and the undercarriage of my Subaru firmly wedged in a snow bank at the beginning of my driveway.

Apathy did have some benefits. What did it matter that the plow was sideways in the ditch blocking the drive? It’s not like we had access in anyway. So what if the raging storm had winds up to 45 mph which blocked us in and made it impossible for the propane truck to drive to our tank so that we were in imminent danger of freezing pipes (and ourselves to death). Whatever.

When I made the move from Boulder to the “Banana Belt” of Salida in the Arkansas River Valley in 1998, I wasn’t overly concerned with seasonal hardship. Colorado was experiencing a lengthy drought period and snowfall was light and manageable for years. But then came the winter of 2007-08 and the brutally cold sub-zero temperatures and record snowfall accompanied my first winter out of scenic Salida and living in a higher, drier and colder valley. What a wake-up call.

Try moving to the wilds of America’s West and attempting to live and thrive in the sparsely populated San Luis Valley for a humility test. Colorado’s SLV is “not a place for the timid,” as Salida naturalist and author Susan Tweit writes in her book, “The San Luis Valley – Sand Dunes and Sandhill Cranes. “Sizzling hot in the summer, frigid cold in winter; the San Luis Valley is a remote expanse about the size of the state of Connecticut that lies forgotten between two major mountain ranges in south-central Colorado.”

Having been born and raised on Long Island, some of my New York edge still remains, even while road rage remains in the not so distant past. I have a general impatience with life’s burdens and general maintenance, and as the dreariness of winter wears on my nerves, my annoyance level and sense of “frustration and unfairness” usually culminates in me buying a car, getting a tattoo or piercing in February or March of each year. I am not a true winter person and it shows...

Try making it through one winter here in the freaking frigid high alpine plains and attempt to keep your sanity in negative 26 degrees while attempting to start at least one of your vehicles after hiking a third of a mile out your snow-drifted driveway in the crackling cold – day after day. Try post-holing through 3 foot drifts wearing a headlamp in the frigid darkness and pulling groceries and 50 pound sacks of alfalfa pellets and chicken scratch on an expedition sled that was last used on a climb up Denali. The initial excitement of donning snowshoes to make the trek to the mailbox got old pretty quickly. Welcome to the San Luis Valley in winter - where zero degrees actually sounds like a reasonable temperature -- and any temps over 15 degrees Fahrenheit feel like a heat wave.

Wake up each morning and stress over what charming challenges Mother Nature has in store for you that day. Daily life becomes a production. Commuting is a nightmare. Wind is to be feared and despised for the havoc it can wreak. Basically, when the wind blows, we pay – cold hard unbudgeted cash to cover the costs of plowing the driveway. (Which "blows".)

Even as this new life here on the farm/ranch continues to be challenging in the way of everyday survival and comfort, I still feel reassured that my partner and I are in it together. (Sometimes he more than I, depending on my physical discomfort level.) Creating the “Blue Moon Homestead” (named for our wedding date in July 2004 on the night of a rare second full moon in the month) from the dirt up was in no way possible without the energy, drive and commitment of my husband Jack.

We are living in a modest 1580 square foot papercrete palace on the prairie. Also known as “fibrous adobe” – a mixture of concrete and recycled newspaper – papercrete has excellent insulation properties with an insulation value relative to R30. Our rustic adobe-like home is complete with large windows showcasing the Sangres, two wood-burning stoves and an enclosed green house, and is warm and comfortable, if not quite finished. It was built with energy efficiency in mind, one level with in-floor radiant heat under stained and sealed concrete floors and solar powered hot water and electricity. We are tied into the grid, but are selling back kilowatts to Xcell Electric.

Our “papercrete palace” is far from “Done” but it’s fairly comfortable. With walls a foot thick, we hardly hear the high winds that sweep across the prairie and its passive solar design keeps the house warm even without turning on the in-floor radiant heat as the evening temperatures dip below freezing. The southern-facing greenhouse soaks in the solar rays and radiates heat through an open door and window into the house. It’s barely cooling down when we arrive home after the sun sets. By lighting fires in the woodstoves, we cut the costs of heating with propane and can almost make it through the coldest months with our 125 gallon tank.

One frigid morning the temperature hovered at -26 degrees below zero and none of our three vehicles would start. An engine heating block might have helped, but that didn’t materialize until after this latest frozen fiasco. (Even then we would have to have been able to drive the car up the driveway to an electrical outlet – hah!) We went for months without any access to our driveway and carport.

After having attempted to start the car and truck down at the end of the driveway, Jack trudged back through the frigid pre-dawn light in a weary way – knowing that even if the Subaru did start (which it didn’t - as I found out later,) it would take awhile to dig it out from the four foot drifts that had blown in the night before.

I was of the mindset to call it a “freeze day” and huddle in next to the wood stove for the day, but winter-loving Jack was insistent that he needed to be at work – dedicated Monarch Mountain employee that he is. It was time to call the Villa Groovy help network – and miraculously one of our neighbors had his truck garaged and his driveway plowed enough to be able to reach us. It is a beautiful thing to have friends and neighbors willing and able to help out – and for us to be able to return the favor at a future time.

Winter in the high country is always challenging, but more so when you have farm animals to take care of. There are drifts of snow to be shoveled, so the goats can reach their feeder and ice has to be broken in the water trough. Biting winds blow hard and scatter hay and keep the chickens huddled inside the doorway, away from their grain and water. Buckets with ice need to be chipped out and filled with fresh water to bring inside the barn, so the animals can drink before it freezes solid. There’s the added expense of heating the water trough and leaving the light and heat lamps on overnight in the barn. The precious few eggs need to be gathered before they freeze.

Lots of effort, very little pay off. Braving the minus zero temperatures to feed, water and muck out the barn, buying and transporting the feed, trekking up to where the alfalfa hay is stored and carrying few armloads back, using the pump to haul buckets of water – all of it takes time – and some days all we have to show for that extra work is an egg or two.

I’m committed to taking care of my animals, but with little daylight and below freezing temperatures, my enthusiasm for “living the farm dream” wanes. I empathize with the chickens which are tropical birds – “What are we doing out here in the frozen Yukon?” Laura Ingalls Wilder – I am not. I may have the little papercrete “palace” on the prairie, but some days I am less than enchanted.

Unless I’m out on the ski slopes and being buried in powder. Our Villa Groovy Neighbor Ski Day was epic – over 3 feet of freshies in five hours at Wolf Creek. Every visit to Monarch was pure powder pleasure - swooshing through a few feet of fluffy flakes on my snowboard with a smile. Memorable times snowshoeing with neighbors and the majestic snow-capped Sangres in our backyards. Dragging sleds filled with holiday feasts up the impassable driveways of next door neighbors and Winter Solstice parties that never end because a blizzard has set in and we can’t make it a quarter of a mile back home.

So it’s a trade-off. Creating all kinds of winter hardship memories with friends and neighbors have served to create a close community and give us lots to chat about during our social gatherings.

“It took over 2 hours to go one mile home in the beater Toyota pickup truck – no heat. The chains kept slipping off and we slid off into the ditch. Had to catch a plane to Honduras the next day. Took six hours to get to DIA. People die in that kind of weather…”

“Negative 13? Well, at least it’s a dry negative 13. No, seriously…” and voices will trail off.

The premonition of winter comes early here in the Valley. Nighttime temps have been known to plummet to 11 degrees in mid-October. It is what it is.

I’ll try to focus on the positive. It’s the season for fires in the wood stove, hearty soups, baking bread and playing in the snow. My dogs are thrilled with the accumulation of white stuff to roll around and burrow in. I’ll be looking forward to the impromptu socialization with shovels and jumping cables on the road and in driveways with neighbors and friends - our comrades in the cold.


>Pending Publication - Jan 2010

The MF Hay Truck Story

Back in the day of my “fresh from the East Coast” mentality and when I worked as a full time ski and snowboard instructor at Monarch Mountain, I lived my life at a much more frenetic pace. Driving down Monarch Pass after a long cold day pulling “flat-landers” off the snow and constantly chanting “Pizza – French Fries” to warm weather kids at the Monarch Ski & Snowboard area, I was hungry and tired (deadly combination) – and late for my next work gig – the “sand-wench” server at Bongo Billy’s Salida Café.

After a bend in the road, my boyfriend, (now husband), Jack had to hit the brakes hard, and fell in line with a creeping train of cars that had suddenly appeared.

“What the hell…” I muttered, scanning the horizon for the possible cause to this traffic meltdown. No weather to speak of, no construction – sure, there were the Texans driving like little old ladies around each curve, doing 25 mph in their gas-guzzling SUVs – but that’s pretty standard around this area during ski season. Then there’s the RVs creeping over the pass in the off-season, but this was January, the roads were clear and we were heading downhill. And I was late and ravenous and in no mood to be trifled with.

Far off in the distance you could see the outline of the first vehicle leading the pack, doing 15 in a 65 mph no passing zone. “What’s the deal – what kind of truck is it?” I asked Jack, who was straining his eyes to see.

“It’s a hay truck.” He answered, eyeing me warily.

“A hay truck? A HAY TRUCK?! “I responded, knowing what that meant time-wise on this road.

“What the f***k are we doing stuck behind a goddamned motherf**king hay truck in January?” I spouted angrily. I fumed, I fidgeted, and I used the four-letter words gained from my youth in Long Island, New York, liberally. (I have yet to meet anyone who can say the word “f**k” with the right amount of emphasis and creative use as a native New Yorker.) My native Colorado husband looked at me first in alarm, and then began to laugh and encourage my vociferous stress release.

And still we crawled along behind this motherf**king hay truck with over 50 cars trailing it on Rt. 50 down Monarch Pass late on a clear, dry January afternoon.

Checking the time, I realized I was already a half an hour late and we weren’t even near Salida yet. I asked Jack if it was illegal to back up traffic on the highway – isn’t there a law that says the slow-moving vehicle driver must pull over and let the other drivers pass? He concurred – yes, there was such a law, but obviously this driver’s side view mirror must be so obscured by chew stains that he couldn’t see, much less count, how many cars were behind him.

It was time to make a phone call. When we reached an area where cell phone service was available again, I called 911 to report this traffic transgression. Actually, I called 911 to get the non-emergency number for the police department, but the signal died. So then, the cell phone rings and it’s the dispatcher needing an immediate answer whether my earlier phone call was an emergency before she sent out the officers. I answered that it depends on the definition of emergency, but no one was in a life-threatening position (except possibly the motherf**king hay truck driver). She gave me the other number, which I dialed, and eventually got an officer on the line.

“I need to report a traffic infraction that is causing some major problems here on the pass,” I informed the officer. I gave him the details – location, number of vehicles in line (that I could see) and a description of the truck. When he requested a more detailed description of the truck itself, I paused, thought briefly, and told him, “It’s a truck – with hay on the back of it.”

Jack, under his breath, muttered, “It’s the only ‘motherf**king hay truck’ on Monarch Pass backing up a gazillion cars.”

When I asked the officer if the driver was breaking the law, he answered in the affirmative. He was very serious and direct – a fine example of our small-town police force. He was going to send out a patrol car right that minute and thanked me for reporting this traffic transgression.

I hung up, very smug and satisfied, and feeling vindicated - having done my civic duty. What would have been a quick half-hour trip was now taking over an hour, thanks to that goddamn truck. That driver needed to be held accountable. Jack, with an air of incredulousness, was choking back laughter, saying “That driver of that old blue motherf**king hay truck is not going to be happy when the cops pull him over. Go, Patty!”

After finally passing -- and flipping off -- the evil inconsiderate truck and driver in Poncha Springs, we saw a patrol car headed his way.

“Do you really think…?”
“Seriously.”
“Whatever – he deserved it.”
“Last time he’ll try to stop a New Yorker in traffic like that again.”
“Oh, and Coloradoans think that’s ok?! Next time he’ll pull the f**k over.”

He muttered what sounded like an endearment under his breath. I had to lean real close to hear it.

“Goddamn motherf**king hay truck from hell.” He grinned and kissed me.

Later that night, I received a voicemail message on my cell phone from a purported Officer Johnson from the Salida Police Department, (sounding suspiciously like Jack.)

“Ma’am, I’m following up the reported motherf**king hay truck incident on Monarch Pass earlier today. We need a little more information from you to be able to prosecute this case to the fullest extent of the law.

Can you give us a better description of the motherf**king hay truck? Was it a blue or red motherf**king hay truck? Did you get the license plate number? We will assume that since you determined it was actually a motherf**king hay truck that it had to be from somewhere in the south.

We appreciate your willingness to come forth in reporting this crime. Any further assistance you can provide to help insure that our society is protected from the insensitivity and general lawless nature of motherf**king hay truck drivers would also be greatly appreciated.

Thank you.”

Pending Publication - January 2010

Duck Tape to the Rescue

My appreciation for Duck Tape evolved with my latest lifestyle. I moved to central Colorado to live in a high mountain desert on a mini-ranchette. My husband Jack grew up in a cattle ranching family near Trinidad, Colorado. Duck Tape was standard ranch equipment throughout his life.

Our dairy goat Patch had given birth to three little nannies: Mocha, Latte & Cappuccino. The babies were healthy enough, although two seemed a bit premature and their hooves & ankles were too weak for them to stand properly. Their ligaments were not strong enough to support their weight. Although Jack was of the mind-set that some kids just shouldn’t make it – natural selection and all that – he agreed to make splints for their crippled legs.

Out came the Duck Tape and stiff paperboard drywall shims from the current construction on our papercrete home. While I held the wiggling, squealing kids, Jack wrapped up their tiny legs in silver Duck Tape to give them the support to stand. As they hobbled off, Jack shook his head at the loudly bleating Latte. “That one is coyote bait for sure,” he stated quietly.

Two days later the casts were off and the babies cavorted freely around the corral. The Duck Tape was supportive and tough enough to be coupled with paperboard and take the place of plaster casts. Having Duck Tape on hand prevented ligament damage and enabled the nanny goats to thrive and walk on their own.

Silence is Significant

Quiet Use Areas (QUAs) – Now is the Time.

I’m a little tired of being quiet – particularly in regards to my need for silence and tranquility when I’m in the woods. I go to the forest and hike in the mountains when I’m seeking the silence and solace of nature. It calms me. Soothes my jangled nerves. Keeps me sane. It’s why I came to live in Colorado in the first place. New York City/Long Island was just a little too … busy. Too crowded with people and full of non-stop noise. I head for the hills when I need to get away – even from the rural life here in the San Luis Valley. Face it, I didn’t move to a town of 80 people to become a socialite.

My hikes bestow me with a sense of peace – and hope for the future of this earth, along with the species which inhabit it. Except ours. Especially when I see some yahoo revving his or her ATV motor and ready to tear up the land on a designated non-motorized trail. A trail specifically set apart from the multitude of others that permit mechanized recreation. When I see this sorry sight, I’m not feeling so peaceful – interruptive motor noise annoys me. It detracts from my experience in using our public lands. It’s inconsiderate. I want to tell these motorheads to go find their own place to play – where the noise and rough roading are welcome. There’s a time and a place for everything. Not everywhere. Your rights as a motorized recreationist should not trample my right to quiet recreation. Have your fun elsewhere. Show a little respect to the quiet crowd.

Quiet is My Right -- I Need a QUA!!

A QUA (Quiet Use Area) is an area of significant size, (not just a trail), set aside for a wide variety of quiet traditional recreational uses on our public lands. Picture, if you will -- areas in our national forests and Bureau of Land Management (BLM) lands designated for “Quiet Use.” Quiet -- meaning without excessive user noise -- to ensure the experience of a natural soundscape. Think hiking, trail running, mountain biking, Nordic skiing or snowshoeing in an area free of motorized vehicles. Recreationists, hikers, campers, families, etc., can enjoy their outdoors experience unconcerned with the whine of motors, or facing a motorcyclist head on upon a tight switchback. There would no fear of canine companions run over by four-wheelers, no loud engines racing as an assault on the ears, no noxious exhaust fumes polluting their respiratory tracts – just silence, serenity and a peace of mind that stays intact.

The Antonym to Quiet is Noise.

Personal Motorized Recreational Vehicles (PMRVs) – i.e., dirt bikes, snowmobiles, ATVs, jet skis or similar vehicles -- would not be permitted in a QUA. Why not? Because as the owners, operators and individuals recreating on our public lands and waterways can attest to: machines make noise. Intrusive noise. Motorized sounds that can carry miles to others who flock to the forests and lakes seeking silence and solitude in the face of todays increasingly motorized modern society.

Multiple Use – Shared Use Areas – no Longer an Option.

From the standpoint of noise intrusion, the multiple use – or shared use - concept of land use is a farce. Motorized noise intrudes on all other land users activities – it has long-ranging capabilities to nullify the natural sounds, and to degrade a traditional recreational user’s experience.

Quiet users and motorized recreationists have been compared to “smokers versus non-smokers.” Each is unable to co-exist peacefully with the other – separate areas and restrictions had to be constructed for a peaceable existence in the smoking situation – why not in the recreational arena?

Massive growth in the PMRV industry is negatively impacting our dwindling public landscape and soundscape. The Quiet Use Coalition (QUC), (www.quietuse.org) a conservation-based organization which supports preserving and promoting traditional use and enjoyment of quiet areas on our public lands and waters, is concerned that unregulated motorized use on public lands will continue to degrade the outdoor experiences that are a vital part of many lives here in Colorado and elsewhere.

The QUC foresaw the growth of motorized recreation and the ensuing conflict of interest between PMRV and traditional users coming years ago. Public land agencies have been painfully slow to address these issues. The QUC has been working to restore balance to our public lands and waters through promoting the concept of Quiet Use Areas with the Forest Service, BLM and public officials on local, state and national levels.

Questions arise concerning the criteria for designation of a QUA. While a Wilderness Area would be the ultimate in quiet use, a broader perspective of recreation needs and uses had to be addressed. The difference between a Wilderness area and a QUA is that the establishment of a QUA would not require the more rigid pristine land attributes necessary under the Wilderness Act. QUAs are for walking, hiking, biking, hunting, fishing, horseback riding, climbing, wild life viewing, canoeing, backpacking, nature photography, etc. They would be off limits to PMRVs. QUAs would be more accessible than wilderness areas by using 4-wheel highway-licensed vehicles -- one could drive a car, truck or SUV into a QUA to access trail heads and points of interest.

The Forest Service and the Bureau of Land Management are well aware of conflicts between motorized and non-motorized users and have been contacted by many individuals who comprise the “Quiet Use Movement”. This movement is gaining support and national exposure as concerned citizens organize to send a message to our legislators and public land managers that they will take action to prevent assault by noise, pollution and environmental devastation, while recreating in our national forest and public lands and waterways.

Fortunately, there is a middle-ground that can be reached between motorized and non-motorized recreational users of public lands. Separate use areas are only one answer. Another way to mitigate potential user conflict is be involved in your local Travel Management Planning process with the BLM and Forest Service officials. Personal user input provides vital insight for the land use managers to consider in trail designation and whether a trail stays open or closed to motorized vehicles.

For years, conservationist groups, including the Quiet Use Coalition, have identified the unmanaged use of dirt bikes, ATVs and other off-road vehicles as one of the greatest dangers to the integrity of America's public lands. As the noise and resource damage have grown, organizations have urged the Forest Service and other public land management agencies to impose sensible controls on dirt bikes and four-wheelers.

Initially it appeared that these requests were ignored. Now, Forest Service Chief Dale Bosworth has identified unmanaged recreation, particularly off-road vehicle use, as one of the four great threats to our National Forests. In this assessment, Chief Bosworth joins his predecessor Mike Dombeck, who singled out ATVs as among the major threats to America's forests and other public lands several years prior.

The National Forest Service is currently in the process of rewriting regulations governing the use of dirt bikes, ATVs and other off-road vehicles on National Forests and Grasslands. Travel Management Planning meetings are taking place across the United States as land use managers update their XXX

Meanwhile, local grassroots groups are joining up with state and national conservationist organizations such as the QUC with The Colorado Mountain Club, The Southern Rockies Conservations Alliance (SRCA) and The Wilderness Society to further the Quiet Use movement. Non-traditional allies such as long-time ranchers and bow-hunters have swelled the ranks, and two landmark conferences have been held to address Quiet Use issues. In February 2005, the Quiet Use Coalition, the Colorado Mountain Club and the Southern Rockies Conservation Alliance sponsored a weekend conference at the Monarch Mountain Lodge in Chaffee County. In this forum, 57 conservationists representing 25 organizations and concerned citizens from across the Rocky Mountain region joined forces to discuss ways to protect and preserve quiet recreation on our public lands.

More recently, the Quiet Commotion was held in Crestone, in the San Luis Valley, in October 2006. More than seventy quiet use supporters participated in the two-day discussion, brainstorming and strategy planning that culminated in a Quiet Use and Responsible Motorized Recreation campaign. A national steering committee was formed and the drive for specific quiet use areas continues.

As for my recent experiences in the woods lately? Besides collecting the tossed beer bottles and obliterating illegal campfire rings at a nearby trailhead of a favorite hike, I’ve treaded lightly enough to catch a red-tailed hawk circle in mid-flight, watch a burnished red-brown coyote sprint through the (unfortunately) brown, beige and dusty plains, and also rounded a bend by a creek and surprised a medium-sized black bear in the wild. The deer and the antelope really are out playing here in the Valley. That’s as long as the visiting dirt bikers don’t continue to chase and scatter the herds for fun, as I saw on a recent hike near Hayden Pass. Rest assured that the Division of Wildlife Hotline number ( ) was called and the wildlife harassment incident was reported.

Be the “Eyes of the Forest” – keep the land and the wild creatures safe – and free of motorized intrusion.

Published in the July 2006 edition of the Colorado Central and on the Quiet Use Coalition website at http://www.quietuse.org