fun and games at burning man 2009

BURNING MAN 2009, A PERSONAL VIEW

photos on picasaweb.google/terryw100/bman09

BURNING MAN, 2009

Its different out here on the playa. it was cool this morning and still, but windy and dusty yesterday on the way in and setting up camp in a crowded corner. we had total of 3 flats on the way in , 2 punctures which i plugged on the spot, and one trailer tire shredded at the gate to the event. i had picked up moondancer, another geezer to give him aride to his camp, and he helped change the tire. cathy, as is her wont, primped and put on her tutu and brought an out rageous cat in the hat hat which i promptly ripped off.

good times with canyon last night, we partied with her desert guardians group, then piled on board a salmon fishing boat mounted on a truck chassis, climbed up about 100' above the ground and toured the site at night. the man is beautiful, with free form waves or mountains around the base and 100' of neon above that perched on a double helix. brightly lit and outrageously decorated art cars, trucks, an articulated bus from england cruised with us. walked back from the temple with canyon, past the man again and over to more fire sculptures, with a line 200 feet long of propane nozzels spouting fire bursts all computer controlled.

Always the thump thump of techno bass gone mad in the background, generaters powering everything. my solar is doing well, so i have all the ions i need fo run my little stereo and charge my computer and run led lights.

had the shitz last night, used my portapottti for the first time. oops cathy and pete just came in, jabbering jabbering, so ill sign off, and write later when i get time. and maybe even put some pix up on picasaweb. love t

things gettin hotter, 98
today, and we are fortunate to have canyon's trailer with ac to hang
out in. i did an ice run this morning, 5 10 lb blox, carried handily
in my old ladys grocery cart, a fold up number, bot at flea mkt in
mina for 5 bucks. wednesday, almost 1/2 way through, my hair is stiff,
and needs washing, tonite, hopefully. problem is what to do with grey
water. silver bob usted to bring a 55 gal drum for that, but he isnt
here this year. i surruptitiously dump our gray on the road, where the
water truck comes by and obliterates any trace of the very uncool
move.

i cant see missing a year of this show, its incredible, the
outpouring of passion and hedonism and artistic talent. we go on an
art tour with the artists tmw morn, hopefull on a big art car bus, or
ride our bikes behind and listen to the narrative on a huge pa system.

great roam last night with cathy on foot, several bar/night clubs are
going full tilt boogie, including one next to our camp. loud thump
thump music. went to a concert in a huge dome with electric bass and
violin playing melodic and strangely woven tunes with a popping drum
machine behind. then to a structure with towers and a set of tracking
lazers on top, so when you walked or danced the lazers would follow
you and play different notes on a big stereo system, all controlled by
a guy at a computer.

moon cast an incandescent glow over the playa, punctuated by green lazers sweeping the dusty air and more art cars belching flame, and blaring techno (one had big rock candy mt on), with crowds of people waving and shouting their glee at being free to party their asses off. We (c and cyn) walked out onto the playa after a party with the earth guardians crowd (eg from now on) and gave the man a through going over, revelling in sweeping free forms of towers built from 2x4s . clouds did a warm air night, people stripped down to the bare essentials. we visited the temple already with many names and keepsakes, pictures, poems etc adorning the jigsaw cut walls, climbed up 3 stories to the top and watched a wedding happen, champagne open, cheers all around. I wonder if its for the duration of the event???

c and cyn head for a monster art car, an articulated bus with platform top spilling over with people, they can only fit 150 on the bus, and im feeling fat legged, so i head to my bike stashed at the man, loc by gps, and tottle on home, stopping at some great installations, a bank of light bulbs 10 feet thick, with 4 colors in each bulb and patterns all controlled by computer. people lying on the ground looking up from underneath.

quiet at camp, the disco is closed for the night, last night they went till midnight.

c wakes up at 9 am, ready to prep for the art tour, it takes an hour to do this, and i putter, fix things, find my sunglasses, charge my camera batts, and off we go, hot, windy, big crowd at the art tour place, so i opt out, hang in the jazz tent for a while, then to cyn, who has been barfing all night long with a migrane. we may not do the black rock tonight after all.

cyn recovered slowly and it is on, we hang with the eg crowd, c goes with the art tour, i do a psa (public service ann.) for the radio, and hand at center camp, big crowd packed in, bumping into each other, many performances in the center ring and at 3 stages.

we snooze, cathy bouncing in and out from various adventures. fire up cyns tundra and drive the dusty, crowded streets to our camp, organize and load up for the night at the black rock playacita. we return to the fashion show, one guy has wings of steel slats that pop open using a co2 cartridge, some outrageous costumes, cyn is in a long prarie dress and pilgrim hat, printed save the earth all over. a true devotee of the earth.

now for the safari onto the playa, we have the radio, the correct forms and our tickets, and we are out of the madding crowd, into the open at last, cyn cruising 40 mph across a perfectly flat white landscape. totally nuts, totally different perspective. we follow a track well beaten up the playa for 15 miles, then branch off to the right toward the black rock, totally visible for 20 miles. It looms up as we approach, and wind our way through the dunes into tthe shelf and there is water (140 deg hot), and an old wagon skeleton, part of the applegate trail. Another burner is there, guarding the hot spring for desert guardians, as part of their role as support for BLM. Talk and talk, a van arrives to take her home, and drops off tracy, another volunteer. she is off in a corner sobbing, very depressed, but canyon cheers her up, and we pile in to the playacita, a perfectly round 1 km playa in the hills above the black rock. we set up camp on the shore, and commence partying, watching the full moon up over the desert mts is spectacular, roaming around the vast flatness of the playa is great , with occasional views of a person for scale. i set up the fire launcher and start popping off fireworks, some mortors hundreds of feet up, and the ball of fire from the launcher gives an apocolyptic effect. we soon fade out, blessed with the silence, no thump thump of bass, no people crowding around, and perfect temperatures.

up with the hot sun, masked by clouds for a while, red sunrise, coffee, hb eggs, and puttering, i play guitar, tracy has a mandolin type instrumnet, and we plink a little. cathy washes her hair, and we pile into the monster truck and are off for the main event. back into the thick of things, everything is dusty now, pepole are dusty. c reviews the sched, and the little black dress (lbd) party is at 5 at spankys wine bar, so we aim for that, cowering , in the ac, until it goes off. oh well. tmw my talk and the man burns.

back to camp and snooze after a cruise on the blm covered wagon art car, with a painted nude, 2 guitarists doing doobie bros and niel young songs. we head home and dark falls, over sleep, 930, and head out to the spaceship launch on the playa. interminable wait, we cruise tthe art cars, watch naked fire dancers, and finally things start happening, a round of ground white explosions segue into huge rocket display with fire coming out of the bottom of the rocket ship, then suddenly a set of blasts from a row of sources with billiowing red, yellow and pink clouds the concussion wave hitting our chests like a sledgehammer. back to cyn camp to get our bikes, then back home to crash, the thump thump thump of the techno beat.

red sun, and coffee, great basin bakery bread, and prep for deep playa. to the temple, post dianes poem, don and lars holbeck passed. deeper we find a garden with columnar joints, and huge ss tables, then to the nest, a eagles nest with comfortable pads. back via the 10 oclock rave domes, pallets made into towers. putter at camp, have long talk with abalone al, and his crew, then prep for the talk. snooze and then off with cathy to the eg pavilion , set up, then people start arrivng, packing in to hear me and my geology presentation. cathy and canyon help with demos of volcanos and subduction. great fun talk, 240 people bilbo counted, and many questions, up to the balcony for a safety meeting, and guiness, and views of the playa fading into fog of blowing dust. a mournful cry of a foghorn echos across the playa. then to canyons for lowering conciousness, more costumes bilbo and darlene, a friend from grass valley. more blowing dust out there, but stilll visibility is good, so we'll do the burn.

lotsa wind yesterday, the burn was late and spectacular, I'll post a description to you soon. breaking camp, plan to leave 5 am after the temple burn which will be watched from a lift truck in our camp complete with balcony, couches, a bar (always a bar). cathy left early, lotsa stuff, i organized the trailer and stuff and all i have to do is throw it in and head out in the morning.

The burn started with a windstorm, packed into cyn's trailer, raging fun, crackling conversation. whoops and shouts, cathy and cyn changing costumes, dancing to classic tunes, wine bottles, champagne popping. we mount the platform and look out into the dark, nothing visible, but the rangers radio is announcing the start of the procession, the fire twirlers will be soon behind. finally we motorvate after interminable costume changes and gathering together of equipment. finally we enter the fray, people on bikes, on foot, art cars, scooters segues, you name it. now a huge wheeled vehicle 50' high roaming along all decorated with flashing lights, neon, video etc.

The density of people increases exponentially as we enter the perimeter, a line of nose to tail art cars 2 miles long, blaring techno, belching fire, people hangng on to platforms for a view above the playa. c and c and i play tag hard to find, several separations, i have them lead and follow, they hold hands to stay togetehr. the twirlers are twirling and a huge flaming dragon enters the mass of seething dancers, with flaming wings flapping. now we look for a spot, the girls want to be up front, and i settle down on my tripod chair to watch the show.

it begins with a spectacular fireworks display, with accompaning blasts , then the man starts spouting sparks from his hands, and soon the whole statue is on fire, now the understructure starts up, people throwing flares into the wooden columns, shoots of flame starting up,then the whole display is enveloped in a monster white billowing explosion the concussion almost knocking us over, leaving the wood flaming, consuming the whole base, that we hung out in and admired as art in the desert. the mans head falls off to a great cheer, but it has a superstructure of steel, and it isnt going anywhere. the vortexes start whirling off downwind. I am tired, but determined to watch the fall of the man, but it isn't happening, so i wend my way past some art cars, one with 3 stories and huge video screen, and a wall of sound, more huge speakers and a gut fluttering bass line.

quiet on the playa, stroll over toward the lightbulb cube and stare at that for a while, great patterns of lights with bulbs changing color constantly.

back to snug nest, just drifting and i hear cathy, "you wimp, its only midnight, get up and party with us" ok, the ladys are back with another bottle of shiraz open, i drink water, enuf for the night. visit some clubs, and now finally they leave me alone to repair.




On 9/6/09, terry wright wrote:
> lotsa wind yesterday, the burn was late and spectacular, ill post a
> description to you soon. breaking camp, plan to leave5 am after the
> temple burn which will be watched from a lift truck in our camp
> complete with balcony, couches, a bar (always a bar). cathy left
> early, lotsa stuff, i organized the trailer and stuff and all i have
> to do is throw it in and head out in the morning.
>




sunday was busy with helping cathy pack and off early, then packing most of the camp myself, the plan to leave at 5 am with too tall sherry, fun fun debbie, pete and tahoe bob. segue over to canyons, tri the internet to no avail, snooze party visit watch the teardown of camp all going into 2 huge containers to be unearthed next year. the wind blows off and and on, we mosy out to central camp, it is crowded, no good music, a n amazing group of individuals and costumes and performance art. now a stroll out onto the playa picked up by an art car for a ride to the man, then back to eg, and fond farewells to cyn, her camp in tatters.

oh i forgot about spankys wine bar saturday afternoon, this was a hot
spot with all kinds of people coming and going on the esplanade. 50
cases of wine in various states of disrepair sitting in the hot sun,
cooled with ice. the name comes from the spankometer, a contraption
where you pulldown your pants, bare butt, to be spanked by a board
that repeatedly thwapped your butt. great sport. good music too, no
techno, a few knopflers, joanie, jazz. great costumes and great
performances with dancing, on the bar and a crowd gathering to
celebrate life.
also deep playa on sat morning early cool, to the temple to post
dianes poem then a great garden with columnar joints and huge rock
tables, and the eagles next high above the playa, snugging in pillows
and watching the world go by.


back to sunday....back to camp and finish packing up, all i gotta do
is turn the key and drive outta there, most stuff in a heap on the
trailer covered with playa dust, gotta find a leaf blower to clean up.
we have a low keytime on the lift truck balcony couch watching the
temple burn, then turn in, sleep soundly until the neighbors fire up
the stereo thump thump. finally at 1 am they calm down, i sleep till
4 30, and make coffee, secure the camper pop top, find the rrear
taillight is out, and not fixable, and finally sherry and i roar off
into the sunrise. a slow procession tot he gate, and out onthe road
smooth sailing to nixon, where i try to get gas to no avail, they are
out. oh well, fume it to the wigwam in fernley, no sign of sherry, a
few other burners are there, 2 recognize me from the talk at bman, and
im tearing into steak and eggs when sherry pulls in, looking hasseled,
nailed for speeding in nixon and pissed. we have a good conversation
about life and plans, she is 15 miles from her house in silver city,
almost home, i contemplate my 3 hour drive to benton and am ready to
hit the road. call heather to relay message i have emerged from the
playa, and debbie and pete pull up, we visit for a short time then im
off on the road again, snoozing several time to stay awake, sail past
mina to montgomery pass, the bug station , the po store and home. to
sleep perchance to dream.

things are low key in benton now, im gonna lie low, maybe do some fishing, clean up the gear after bman and visit around. my friend from tulsa arrives in reno on the 16th and we do the millpond music fest. that weekend, and im back for dr appts on the 24th. ill be around a week, but plan a southland odyssey to a weekend party in lancaster, then to santa barbara to visit cathy in her mansion about to be foreclosed upon, then gunkholing up the coast to a ranch on big sur and friends in monterey and santa cruz, then to the dylan/willie concert at the greek, then home for a while. oh well sieze the moment...

rage on.

16 who dared: Tuolumne River 2009

16 who dared, tuolumne river 2009

Pictures at
http://picasaweb.google.com/terryw100/

video

Tuolumne 09

complex logistics, but i can handle it, 17 oops 16 (namomis dr wouldnt let her go after surgery) gathered with a mountain of gear , food, kitchen, camp lumped down the rocky putin path. overhung from great party, gathering the night before next to the river. the river is up, 22-2400 cfs and promising higher, strap down, rig to flip, and off on the raging tide. johnny and greg are on board, after tying down the load, greg is backup rower boatman in training, never done class 4, but hes a great guy and capable, just needs experience. just what i need to have him take over on the easier stretches.

good runs, lotsa room with the water, way left at nemesis, never done that before, i just follow bcs red kayak down the slot. sunderlands is huge, monster side curlers coming off the right cliff, i climb high on the left, turn and hit them head on and we plough thru, not the fate of steves trip, one of their boats is upside down in the eddy,
they looking forlorn on the shore, picking up the pieces.

Aside from a surf of ramshead hole, the rest is great fun, lunch at clavey and hike to the fossils, swim in the creek, mellow out. beer and premaid sandwiches fuel us for the clavey drop. it is steep, i hit a vshaped hole and get knocked off my seat, and lose an oar, but the paddlers keep paddlin, keeping me away from the wall, and i see dinosaur rock far away and relax, running the last drops backwards. "all upright, at the bottom of clavey, all ok."

Grays is really big, riverwide hole stops us even tho we are full steam ahead, and i land on johnnys head and crick his neck, hes ok, but that took us by surprise. On down the rio, easy runs at high water, and into camp on the sandy beaches downstream of north fork. set up camp for a day of rest and fun hiking.

Monster ravioli meal, salad, wine, beer, margaritas, 2 pies for dessert with whipped cream. oink. tom is doing his thing, has 6 burners going, 2 tables for prep, one for booze and a king size bbq for the dutch ovens. I rig a fish flag and the led solar lights and we are ready to party. Ben sings some of his great songs, i do a pancho and lefty performance on his guitar, and fade away.

coffee early, im after the fish, hook one on a fly, but he gets off. we prep for the brushy rocky hike and take off up the canyon. dings are happenin, blood shed, i have a gouge on my forearm from rowing clavey, but it stops bleeding fast, just looks bad. we enter the gorge and swim up through the pools to the upper falls, vertical walls up 50 feet on both sides. people hanging out in the sun, the water is cool, canyon goes down to get a wet suit. i hang in the jacuzzi with cathy and we revel in the beauty of it all. bash back down, taking it slowly and carefully to pizza lunch at camp and long snooze, more fishing, still no keepers, and long conversations about important things under a 20x20'tarp blowing in the wind. friends drop in, bcs wife wanda with 3 kayakers, and jeff and adam, sierra mac guides on a field day kayaking, they are going to redo the gps locations of rapids on the cherry creek run for me. i lost the original notebook. always duplicate critical field information.


dinner is an heroic bbq with 2 salmon fillets, 4 tritips, potatoes, salad choch. cake for dessert with whipped cream. more songs, im wiped and crash out, cathy comes to visit and it really hot to do more of this kind of stuff. i fade to drunken fools staggering by me on the way to camp.

great bkfst, fathers day, whoopee. biscuits, gravy, eggs, chicken sausages, more coffee, a beer or two to wash it down. now we get organized, and pack it all up, load it on the boats and off to more glory downstream. a cabin, donkey engine and mining debris occupies us for a while, then the pull of turnback creek, to no avail, the creek is dry, out onto the lake and the tow and the ride up from the bridge for the drivers late, we derig and hang on the beach at moccasin for 3 hours before they show up watching the scene, huge boats, drunk mad people, end of a day with lake people.. Tom has done the money calculation, and its 90$, man what a deal, Marty helped greatly sporting us the shuttle.

Sad farewells, cheers and good feelings all around. we did it, i did it,organized the whole thing and it came together in one coherent whole, everyone working towards the same goal. fun on the river. We run to smoke, my fav restaurant in Jamestown with Canyon and the next order is margaritas and fish tacos, then the long run to santa rosa where johnny takes off for the gfs, ready for it.

1242 words, copyright terry wright 2009

AT PLAY IN THE RIVERS OF THE LORD

38°46'6.35"N
119°43'20.08"W
Carson river camp Terry

We were drinking wine, eating beans and dreaming of the glory of life, with Rodger my companion on many adventures, curious, toothless, great story teller saying "I've gotta get outta town, theres no work, i owe johnny 500 bucks and i need to feel the rod in my hand and the sharp tug of trophy trout on the other." "How bout a 3 day trip on the carson river? I 've been checking the level and its ok now, but going down fast. we could drive up monday, put in and float down to my camp near the hot springs and fishing hole and spend 2 nights there, a layover, and just hang out. Ive got all the equipment, wed just need a minimal commissary and some food; Ill pay for everything but your booze, if you bring some food." His reaction is immediate: "Im on, I ve gotta get outa town."

OK now for the wrestling around of equipment, sorting out stuff buried in the barn from months of throwing things in there, I unearth Lucy, my 16' avon pro river raft and ready for adventure. I think of all the other heavy things, and praise the lord for deliverence by Rodger, a human bee, bopping around, packing stuff, talking constantly, i show him what needs to go, and he approves. The danger lurks though, 2 people packing, and he not used to river trips, but a real camper and finally we are loaded up and ready to roll monday morning 7 am.

The miles flash by, traffic on the freeway, last food and forgotten stuff stop. "what did we forget?" we talk about it, and come up with a few things. "I know we forgot something, but its too late now, 2 old guys, 65 and 66 at play in the rivers of the lord.

We check out the alternate direct route, mormon emigrant trail, but the tow truck guy doesn't know, his boss says there's still too much snow, so we banter a bit. Tow guy says, "Well if you get stuck up there, im the guy whos gonna come up to tow you out, so please go up the trail, things are kinda slow around here". We laugh and i take in the buzz cut and racing sunglasses,dirty tshirt, ready smile, great sense of humor of the mountain men.I know of what i speak, i are one, lived here in Pollock Pines for a year, and now ensconced in a home in Benton, east sierra high desert.

On over the pass, fast ride, arrive at Markleeville on time, pick out some flies, some beer and on to putin. the river looks ok, about 800 now, but the weather threatening, dark clouds, hints of rain, thunder. surrogate bonnie comes on with two little girls, takes my 50 and writes down all the particulars of our shuttle, out on wednesday afternoon. Interminable packing process, i look for the board for the bottom of the frame to no avail, thats what i forgot, we'll have to improvise, the SNAFU way, slings for the cooler, ill have to stand on the floor, bumping rocks. oh well it could have been a lot worse. I don't find my padl jacket in the truck, so i have no rain parka and no warm jacket, things forgotton are piling up. I find the ikea big tote bag and with 3 cuts have a shoulder and upper body cover waterproofed. Ill just have to make do with the shirts and pants i have to stay warm.

Finally off on the rio, accompanied by rumbling thunder, flashing lightening, rain showers and low water. We make the cut at the bridge and rodger is paddling well, helping out a lot, i couldn't have done it without him. Easy float to the confluence, remembering the fat trout i snagged here with eileen, our first wilderness date. I snooze in pittering rain, rodger explores, but soon we are on our way, getting wetter and colder. Catch up to a family group, men and kids, major fishing gearheads, new equipment, we agree on camps and go on, gathering firewood along the way. Catch up on a major rock at the top of the last rapid, a big fat tan rounded thing, rodger gets out and lifts the raft off of it and we tuck into our little cove and camp.

The tarp lean to set up and camp pitched. rodg gets the fire going and soon we are sipping wine and enjoying being on the river. I snagged a sheepskin cover from the passenger seat of the truck, but it is wet, so that tucks around the fire. we are pooped, darkness comes and the smoking lamp is lit. terrys perpetual bean pot affords us a hearty meal, complete with cooked bison burger for punch. Tales of the river are told, previous trips here, of people and incidents, kailen father and son trips, and a 5 day with cathy and the geology crew. And off into the night, cold in my light sleeping bag, dress for the occasion and break out the silver survival tarp finally warm enough to sleep. Light rain continues, but we are ensconced under a mega leanto tarp.

wake to overcast skys, oh well, life isnt perfect, the sheepskin is dry, so i have another garment. coffee filters and filter holder mysteriously did not get packed, we had it in our hands, 2 many cooks.....but we are in survival mode, doing what we can with what we have, creatively, solving problems as they appear, or not. that is the challenge of all wilderness travel, a melding of knowledge and creativity helping us get along.
i improvise with 2 beer cans, one with holes in the bottom,the other to drain into, still grounds to spit out, darn it, gotta check the list next time. We stalk the wiley trout, rodger gets a 10" i get a 15" and we are happy. Laze around, check out the small hot spring downstream, perfect temp and comfortable pool right above the river. Time to hike, cross the river with padls, then over the hill to find the family in the big pool, i soak in a very hot 112 deg. new pool above. To the lower pool and it is crowded, so i take some pix, one of their dog leaping off the cliff into the river 20 ' below. back to nap, and hang out, fish some more. I stalk the wiley trout and see a big one in the rapid. I am fiddleing with gear when suddenly a huge torpedo fish leaps straight up, a monster, wow, that would be a great catch and release scene, we could never eat all that trout. I make some casts with a big lure to no avail, oh well, theres always tmw.

"Y'know, we could stay another day, we wouldnt have to run tmw, we have plenty of food and beer, and it might upset mitch, who is expecting us wed. night, but it would be cool to hang another day." "I have nothing i have to be back for" rodger agrees and we make it so. Another mellow evening aroundthe fire. rodg has ignited a big pine snag, and it spits flaming drops of pitch and smells wonderful.

still cold in the flimsy sbag, even with the sheepskin over me, but sleep comes later, waking with birds chirping. The camp squirrel makes a pass, beautiful markings, white patches and stripes, ever inquisitive, looking for bits of food.



Clear with puffy clouds, still cool, grounds in the coffee, eggs and beans for bkfst, and off to the fishing hole. The second cast lands right where i want it at the end of the eddy and wham! a huge tug on the line then more, and i have him hooked. careful not to break the line, i bring him in but he fights fiercely
twisting, turning running. I keep the rod tip high, rodger coaches me to bring him into shallow water, but he is a monster with his own agenda, running out and back, then up to the eddy and i coax him back to the shore, bumping and cartwheeling, trying to break the line. finally i get him into the shallows and work him to shore, rodge is all ready to jump in after him, when he makes an unexpected tug and is gone snapping the line. Shit, i throw down my rod, but what a rush just to play with this huge guy. Rodger checks my reel "you didnt have any drag at all! he broke the line because your reel wasnt set right!" oh shit, now i really feel bad, oh well, again the reward is in the play, I just wanted a photo of the big guy before letting him free. now he has to deal with a plug in his jaw, it should slip out or rust out soon tho.

Rodg takes the cell phone and we cross the river to relax fish for me, he is headed to the top of the ridge with mitches phone no. to no avail. we fish from that side, and 3 people appear, looking like fit old time river guides, one complements me on my pro, 1982 avon raft, and we will visit kindrid spirits. First a nap then i cruise to the upper camp for a dump in the shitter, and surprise elly, looking at rocks, she remembers me from the tuolumne celebration, where i blew off a grease bomb and lit up the whole camp. Old time guide, and chris and mike from columbia, old zephyr boatmen, great walks to mariposa lilys and talks of old times.

Mike Whips joins us around the last campfire, beans and a couple beers for dinner, long stories about the rivers and people. Tired in the dark, light off a roman candle for good luck, then to bed in the snug nest.

Cold and clear in the morning, i see my breath. we start packing a breaking down camp. i am wiped and have to nap for a while, then stagger around trying to help rodger, but hes good and knows the routine. Finally loaded up and down the rio, a stop at the waterfall, then through a new rapid, boulder fell from the right cliff sending a shot of water straight up. We catch up to the zephyr crew, rodger fishes and gets a 12 incher, i snooze. down the rio around the bowknot bend, rodg rows me well, then into the lower canyon, fun rapids, hawks and a young eagle being harassed by two small birds flitting across the viewscape.

Takeout, no vehicle, mike and i climb to the upper lot and there they are, ready and waiting. we load up and use the hand truck to get the raft up, mike is a big guy and helps us with the frame and lifting the boat into the back. we take leave of our new friends, and head to gardnerville, stopping for cigs at the smoke shop. i call mitch but hes off somewhere climbing or in saline. we find a great pub and settle in for the la lakers game, pesto, call johnny and everyone is paniced about us, we put it to rest, they gave us 24 hours before calling the search and rescue.

rodger drives into the night and i snooze a bit, home at 1 am, happy and tired.

copyright 2009, Terry Wright

Darwin, the town not the man

Darwin, the town not the man

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The name resounds with memories, echos of party time , characters, high desert scene, stories of same, hikes to secret mines, 10” crystals of calcite, friends won and lost. Once a year this sleepy little mountain ghost town with 37 full time inhabitants plus 15 dogs erupts with activity, creativity, ceremony, lavish potlucks, and to top it off, a rock n roll band for the ball on Saturday night in the old miners union hall, now dubbed and duly signed “Darwin Dance Hall”. It is now time for spring a ma jig, an annual salute to passage into summer and gathering of the tribe, the Saline plus tribe from near and far. We push our busy schedules aside, pissing off mom, as it is on mother’s day, and prepare for the onslaught.

Kathy Goss, the mayor, is in charge, running around like a mad banshee, doing last minute prep, even Canyon has been here since Sunday, after hiking 9 days along the inyo crest with ds buddies. I plan a stealth approach, but she gets on the horn and allows as how the party has already started, so I step up the pace, determine to leave Wednesday, but its slow getting everything together, im not outta town until noon. Im tired and munching a chicken sandwich high above altamont pass, trucks roaring past, wind generators buzzing on all quarters, and I look to the east, and see tracy, out there, the town, tracy, and my synapses click in and focus on the person there “INYO” I scream at the tops of my lungs and now he’s on the cell, “c’mon down, sure spend the night, use my table, we can party down.” Great, my second son is back from staking claims in Oregon and my plans change immediately. I’ve been sick, tired, harassed and its time to kick back and take care of myself. He lives in a small clabord house, foreclosures left and right, a little weasly dog that won’t let me alone, snuffling and licking, until I get my bark off high frequency generator and he immediately shuts up and cowers in a corner. I take a power nap in the back yard,then Inyo fires up the barby and I start twittering the evenings progress. We get mellow and open a bottle of zin, talking a mile a minute. He is the son of Jason Saleeby , my geology buddy who teaches at cal tech and has a place on big island, named his son Inyo after the mountain range west of Saline valley, east of owens valley, in the paradise of the east sierra.

I’m up early and on the road ragin’ down I5 by 7 am, and nothing can stop me now. At 75 mph the miles tick by, I call Cathy B, now her house is threatened by fire in Santa Barbara, on top of having to sell it because of the real estate crash. Through Wasco to last minute shop, gas up and head out into the mountains up the kern river canyon, snooze at walker pass, down into Indian wells valley, into the wide open spaces. I call Sam, but she had a bad fall a year ago and injured her spine and won’t be coming to Darwin. Now on 395 screaming up the long hill to olancha, last gas, then into the real outback, the sign death valley 65 miles, “No services 85 miles” tells the story of the road ahead,

Top the first hill, suddenly there’s a crowd, Elaine aka Desert Holly s multicolored blue bus sits with the hood up, a crowd gathered around, she’s got some help,so I sail past and on to the j tree forest, where the u2 cover was shot. The tree died because too many people tromped on its roots.

Over the hill and down the straightaway, the town spread out with funky houses, most abandoned, the mine with some new buildings, and finally into town proper, past the wrecked trailers, hulks of cars, truck and other things that don’t go. Alexs stone house looks untended, but then it always does, he’s gotta new life and woman in LA. Stop at the only stop sign in town, spy a gathering on the porch of the dance hall, but head right for my campsite across from the dance hall and center of operations. OOPs theres garbage mans truck right across the street, here we go again.

I hear “Is that Terry Wright?” and Catherine/Canyon appears, not in costume yet, and we greet and meet. Suddenly Mike appears and heads to his truck. “Hi Mike” I greet him, “I’ve gotta get out of here” he growls and fires up his truck. “You don’t have to leave mike! You did the same thing to me in Africa”, He slams the door rolls up the window as I approach and guns it outta there spraying gravel all over. “what was that all about?” Canyon asks, “oh just another mike tiff I introduced him as the man who loves to hate, and that pissed him off, I’m back on his shit list.

Canyon and I catch up and Jim comes over, “were gonna have a potluck at Pierre’s, ill carry your chair up in the pickup, as long as you sit with me and tell me more lies”. OK, time to spring into action, people are headed up the hill to a series of containers, now welded and joined into a house, Pierre’s hideaway. A crowd has gathered, old and new, the bbq is spitting out burgers and hot dogs, I add my smoked steelhead to the mix, crack a beer and I’m in heaven. Mike sneaks in, but seemingly in good humor, talking with everyone in his outrageous way, Laura bell arrives to great fanfare, broke her hip on a camping trip and now barely getting around, I meet her daughter’s husband, from Massachusetts, and we connect on many different levels, skiing Cannon, hiking the Whites. We banter back and forth with everyone, what a great bunch of characters. I have 2 burgers, and some wine and keep a steady chatter with Catherine, jim and kristie, Kathy goss, and whomever else comes by.

The sun is hot, but finally sinks to the west, I search out some old friends, then head down to camp to set up. After concentrated effort and many camping tricks, I’m ensconced in the cot, the poker game is going, and I opt out, canyon has her pouffy springs headpiece on and is dealing, I give her a peck and head for bed.

The wind kicks up sometime during the night and the tarp hung to shade me from moonburn starts flapping voraciously devouring my peace and quiet. Finally I get up and tie it in a bundle, insert the ear plugs and am off to ni ni land.

The bird chirpings wake me at dawn and Jim and Kristie are moving around on the coffee deck, looking like the nectar is in preparation. I stagger over, still groggy from the night before, not much wine, but fleurzapam put me down and I walk in a straight line as possible, collapse in a chair and miraculously my mug appears with milky potion, standard coffeee and bailys irish crème, and things are looking up. The stories fly, Nebraska life from Jim and Kristie who spend about 1/2 time there, and then Benton, my half time residence, adding up to some phenomenal tales.

I route out Canyon, luxuriating in her big tent with fancy rugs, scarfs, costume boxes in the corner, and a separate dressing room for prepping for the show. we, then break for Kathy’s where a great egg/potato/ onion/ pepper feast awaits. Kathy is back and forth like a bee, busy busy with chores, things that have to be done yesterday.. We lounge and talk, phil tells stories of shooting down migs and ducking from the patrols in nam. A bit rough he, that experience changed everyone.

The call goes out for the gravestone placing event, and we caravan down to the cemetery with Michaels stone, concrete, water, hoes and shovels and start to work. A big metal bucket with the upper 6 inches cut off to use as a form, and soon we are the Caltrans crew, mixing the concrete with gravel from the ground, a big load, then placing a crazy quilt of rebar in the hole for support, then pour the concrete. 5 people working, 10 people watching, like Caltrans. It’s getting hot, but we drink fluids and hid under sarongs and watch the men work. Man’s work, concrete mixing, women join in and a tarp covered with ceramics Michael made to be used to decorate the grave.. The stone is placed and secured and ceramic colors all around, we admire the work, fine tune it a little and return to town. Canyon wants to see the costume, so we hang under my sun tarp, open a Mcoy mammoth ale and talk and talk and then a bottle of wine, then camembert, then guitar and song, Canyon brings her mermaid costume, a masterpiece of green with a fish head she sees through the mouth. And long tail, to be held ;off the dirt by a thong. She brings a couple of cold Newcastle ales, Carson who forgot to work comes by and picks a little, has a beer, and finally its nap time and I crash out.

I awake to thoughts of beans, and fire up the outside stove Earl has and on Kristie’s stove the onions and peppers and spice, borrow some mape from jim, add marmalade and strawberry jam and its done. I have to pay attention to the process, but go to Cathy’s for a break and a beer, and run into Ginny, cathys friend from alameda, and she is a trip, we get mellow and get into a mock argument, and connect, what a woman. A legal secretary out of work, and a free spirit.

I make 2 pots of beans and take one to Kathys, hang there with Canyon under the shade of a j tree, and watch the downtown scene. People coming and going, Pierre roars by on his quad, Hal stops by to pay his respects and ask a geology question. We have a grand 2-part potluck, at the dance hall, and kathys. G mike is there and runs when I appear, still paranoid.

After dinner I put my guitar into Jims pickup and tell him to come by and wake me up when he leaves for the bonfire on the upper flats. This works great and I sit there with drums all around, no room for guitar, I play the recorder. A cute blonde next to me turns out to be from bishop and knows carol, win and a host of others, we talk and make contact, another mountain woman, doesn’t ski much, but an avid hiker. We agree to get together sometime.. I’ve had it with the drums and people are leaving, I get a ride with Elaine down the hill, and crash out.

Steve from Lancaster arrived in his big bus drunk and arguing loudly with his girlfriend who didn’t want to be here. He threw a bunch of stuff out on the road, his gf crying in the drivers seat, and he disappeared. Finally Jim finds him under Earls van crashed out, and lectures him on proper behavior, he agrees somehow getting the bus into the parking lot. All is quiet, until all hell breaks loose, more yelling and screaming and crying. Jim finally calms them down with the threat of throwing them out, calling the sheriff (who is due up here any minute on his daily run. I sleep through it, but morning dawns with the whole story.

I can roll over in my cot and see Jim puttering around in the predawn light, with the tops of western mts lit up already. I fumble around, find my cup and head over for the morning coffee klatch. Jim and Kristie smoking, talking, waking up , going over events of the evening before. Steve had disappeared again, only to return quietly about 3 am. We wait for more action but none to come. People join in, the Nebraska friends, they flew into vegas, rented a car and drove thru death valley for the party. Someone comes by with gooey buns and I munch a little.

Appearance a t Kathy’s, check out who has arrived, who is telling stories, phil is there telling war stories again, I leave and find Canyon still asleep and sneak up on her again with a big kiss. I bring her coffee and we hang in the xanadu tent for a while, listening to the town wake up.

I have more camp things to do, the sun shade has been blown around by the wind during the night, so I straighten it out, find a way to post the transect on the side of the barn, a beautiful art piece in itself. A guy comes by, another local and asks about the kayak, and I get to talk about Lars and his life, now gone to cancer, too many people dying, at the end of their life for no obvious reason.

The morning progresses, people come and go, I hang at the dance hall, june is there, my kayak partner from glacier bay, she wouldn’t paddle and I yelled at her, another classic trip. I bring out the group picture, and theres mike with huge long beard, killer cain, now passed from throat cancer, smoker;. Hardware dave, now software davida thanks to a sex change operation in thailand, tom and Carolyn now in Alaska finishing their house. The usual suspects. Friends and fellow travelers, all with the gleam in their eye of adventure, new experience in the outdoors and creators and master story tellers.

The tie dye operation is starting, I watch, hang in the gazebo telling art stories with ginny and sandy, perched above it all, watching a Rambo-style truck, old jeep style with a parasol, covered with costumed people, touring the town over and over, roaring by, the owner of the auto parts store in lone pine. More people arrive, the parking lot looks like an rv park, partying people under shade structures, small and large groups and a constant coming and going at the front of the dance hall. I sit with Jurgen, the german artist, old friend from days past, connection with timbo and Christine of pioneer town, he has painted a monument valley scene over the door in her living room in the old west style house designed by a Disney artist set in the middle of Joshua tree forest with huge boulders of granite, her own national park. I’ll miss the big party, may madness, but make a promise to be there for Halloween next fall.

Jurgen is into taking abandoned buildings in germany and refurbishing them for low cost housing. He painted a 3 d scene door on a garage door and the owner backed into it, it was so real he thought he had plenty of room.

I snooze, building up strength for the evening, Canyon comes by in her creationist outfit, long black dress, and sign “Down with Darwin”, Kathy has a costume on with long braided white hair and helmet with horns and breastplate. She and Canyon are the queens of costume, constantly coming up with something outrageous and new.

“Its time for the fish costumes” Canyon yells to me and I pull on the tyvek suit with the fish painted on it by heather and with glitter, and put feet on the fish kite, mount it on a ski pole and enter the fray. More costumes come out, a guy in furs, hat boots vest and many necklaces, holding a staff with a wooden star on it and a bird perched on the crook. Canyon comes with her green fish head, sequined dress and mermaid tail and we pose for the photographers. The fun begins, music playing dueling pianists in the dance hall raging classical, pop, you name it.,

Derek arrives with the band and they start setting up, with drum noises, and piano, bass and lead guitar warming up with a big sound system. He brings me my tripod chair, left in bishop at a concert a month ago and I am complete again, sitting with Pam of the straight hair, looking good, friend of win and carol, another bishopite, fur man and partner, older craggy woman looking like Georgia okeefe. We get food from the potluck table, my beans a hit again, a full spread with casseroles, meatballs, an a last plate of tritip, a major feed. I m working on a 30$ bottle of zin and give Derek the last hit, I don’t need any more and head for the water jug.

The sun is lowering, and the barriers set up to control the crowd into the dance hall. Bad elements from the outback are kept at bay in the street , setting up chairs and sitting in quads and 4 wds unwilling to pay the 10$ fee to enter, and keeping trouble at a minimum. There used to be tweekers, and tweekettes starting fights and crowding the dance floor, but after most of them died in an auto accident and other unnatural causes, and the control fence things calmed down considerably.

Derek is raging, loud band, old favorites, new costumes coming out, Pierres wife has a gauzy white thing on with lightwire in big scrolls underneath showing through, and a bird like headdress. Canyon is in her fish outfit, sans head, showing off her elegant bony upper body, I feast on the sights and we dance me next to Derek in the red pimpdaddy coat with lights on now, and we hug in joy. I got him the gig, and he’s happy to be playing. A little rough, but loud, I’m with earplugs. Mustang sally rings out, stones, beatles, old standards, everyone loving it. I drop a 20 in the tip jar and mingle with the crowd and watch the action. A guy in camo is ripping it up with crazy steps, Kathy goss enters in a long robe and lit up crown, and it goes on and on. I linger outside with the dispossessed, and see some old friends, dave who survived the tweeker stage, when 3 friends died in a horrific car crash on their way to lone pine high as kites. Now he lives at willow creek mining camp in saline valley, all green, water, swimming pool, I promise to visit around the 4th when its good and hot. I’m already pooped and settle in on the cot with earplugs and drift off to the thumping of crazed dancing.

Another morning, another coffee klatch, people already packing up to leave, jim kristie and I settle in and another spate of long stories, and people coming and going. Jay is ensconced in his spiffy car, with his oxygen feeder hoses, emphysema, and morbidly obese, and diabetes, still smoking and drinking scotch. He asked Jim if he would spread his ashes next year, and Jim replied “ ask me next year”.

People are getting ready for the memorial procession for michael’s service. I putter around and get ready to load and leave. Post a couple of signs for geology talk for jason’s transect which I have posted on the side of a barn behind my camp. People mill around and finally we are off, 30 or so costuemed, drums, my recorder, bagpipes, and led by a pickup with a life sized puppet in the back with articulated arms waving and bowing operated by franchesca from behind. We enter the cemetery scattering dried rose petals from a big bowl Michaels daughter is passing around. We gather in the hippie corner of the cemetery, surrounded by souls from the 1800s and recent tweekers, and all are impressed by our job concrete base for the stone and colored pieces of ceramics embedded from wasted parts of Michaels potter career. Words and prayers and poems, one sung in Sanskrit by his daughter, and she passes the urn and we all spread parts of Michaels dust around the site, and on the surrounding desert. Vials of dust are handed out to be spread in places far away that he loved. He was a true child and force of Darwin, one of the original artists who settled there in the 60s to find solitude and creativity in the desert ghost town.

We head back in Jims truck, Canyon next to me, adjusting a new flowing costume and a busby, marge simpson hair piece 3 feet hi, made of wool top and gopher cages. Man she is something else, major creative force. We settle into pre potluck mode and there is Sam, my old friend from ridgecrest and we party, Carson banters and I catch it on video. I put the call out for the geology talk, and get a few takers, go over the section showing geology from Monterey to amargosa desert and down 130 km with no vertical exaggeration. Beautiful colors and incredible science.

Back to the brunch potluck, fill up on eggs and potatoes and other good stuff, gotta avoid the salt, I try, but can tell some stuff is suspect. Pack up the remainder of camp and head out after goodbyes to all. G Mike has disappeared, but big mike is playing guitar and Canyon comes out for a good by kiss. And I’m off on the road again, call Linda from lone pine with a large vanilla milkshake at mcds, and she’s in big pine and I plan a nap there, which I do, wake up gasping for breath, too much salt, head for Benton via bishop vons, no Sunday la times, all out. Tired, make it to Benton and call judy, she’s gardening in Tulsa, we relax for a while, bantering, she tells a story of spreading her first husbands ashes on the golf course after digging them up with a silver spoon. I tell her of lars and Michael, 2 memorial services in one week, too many people dieing.

I’m wiped but call Eileen and she starts talking about her new tv and her new place, “what’s this about?” “Im moving out to that 55+ complex I told you about, you said you wanted me out by july, so I’m doing it now” Stunned, I thought we had a couple of months left, but its over. Change is good but this is huge, I sleep swearing at myself.

3725 words
Copyright 2009 Terry Wright

may day celebration gone bad.

The classical hippie gathering at the ranch high in the coastal mountains was dampened by a steady drizzle, but the maypole was up with multicolored strands dropping from the top crowned by sprigs of blue flowers, and people were gathering, a small but hard core crowd, ready to relive old relationships and tell stories of the heyday of the years of love.

I arrive a little late to erect the pole, one of my favorite activities, 30 foot pine sunk into a 4 foot deep hole, jammed in with rocks, shining in the drizzle and filtered sunlight . I brought a full phalanx of tarps, poles, zipties, stakes, clips and we soon had about 200 ft2 of shelter from the storm. the regulars are all there, people who have remained sequestered on the ranch, the remains of a community of about 100 or so who settled here to save the world in the late 60s and 70s.

I visited several times as i had friends out there , gotta tour of the gardens, after delivering some mattrasses hauled out of a house my future ex brother in law had been fixing up. I got to know Jake, the master of ceremonies and owner of this 300 acre piece of wildness, president and ruler pro tem of the tribe, in the 80s after we appeared together in a fashion show benefit for our favorite political party, the west county mafia, we took over the county board of supes and fought the development interests in the 70s. Hes now in his late 60s, and a reknowned artist, and a figure appearing occasionally at bars now overcome by yuppies and post boomers who have taken over the scene out here. We embrace with a great bear hug and catch up on life, still trying to get him out to the east sierra, to my home there and to enjoy the scene, paint my mountain for me, and hang with the local incredible characters of the high desert. See benton blogs for some of that.

The organized chaos of the commune now manifests itself in a few hardy souls left living off grid and out of sight, continuing the tradition. They chose may day all it means politically and spiritually as the annual get together. My daughter and grandkids came out last week with me to die the fabric with jane and george, one of the longest lived remaining couples on site. their kids all grown and flown to more conventional lives, they have a cozy complex of hand built cottages, living space kitchen, lots of books, and a welcoming place to hang and tell stories of incredible happenings now and long ago, one topping the other. the oral tradition is alive and well with these gracious welcoming people. I swapped stories with george, an old berkeleyite who took geology from john verhoogan at cal, and loves my geological tales, he returns fire with long stories, twisting and turning, unexpected connections and an appreciation for the land and the wierd things humans do to it.

People are getting down, a little wine, but not much alcohol, lots of healthy food an occasional mellow whiff, and i unleash the smoked steelhead with the mango chipotle sauce on the crowd, spread out on my rollatable, help set up the rolla cot for people to sit on and settle in to great conversations with old friends as the rain drums on the roof. We dodge drips from holes in the tarps, and find dry spots to set, raymond brings out his accordian, a mandolin, i drag out my guitar and we are singing and playing and everyone is mellowing out, celebrating the event and revelling in memories of the good old days. True hippies with dreads and colorful clothing, swathed in jackets and parkas. tall john, one of the originals is totally dressed in yellow slickers, knee boots and rain hat. he towers over everyone and holds us rapt with stories of old and new times, his place in the desert at a hidden hot spring campground, and greeting old friends with bear hugs. Silent sam appears from the woods totally garbed in rain gear, he doesnt talk, and stays like a ghost on the edge of the clearing, then dissappears back into the dripping pine forest.

Garbage moss is nowhere to be seen, he is in another one of his depressed moods, after being great fun in the desert, but i had introduced him as " the man who loves to hate" to some people, and he's not talked to me since. he has written so many good people off his list, including me for the last year, for behaviour he deems as inappropriate, such as my comment. so again we were best friends at the springs over pres day, partying, him wearing his dicknose and picking up. he was the garbage man here at the ranch during the heyday, organizing the recycling and garbage control. Oh well, he is severely bipolar, and needs to take time off from the scene.

The grandkids shasta and jevria have found friends and are running around in the rain, roasting strawberries over the fire i've set up in the old weber kettle. they think its great to be playing in the rain, and no cries of anguish have come to pass, so all is well.

I spot an apparition, a beautiful young woman in a long white dress, never seen her before and am transfixed, she moves like a dancer. now mellow on a little martini cab and some smokables and high on the conversations with a great group of characters. She drifts in with a net bag and sets it down, brings out a 1/2 gallon of segrams 7 whiskey and a big bottle of 7 up and starts pouring 1:1 into a large canteen. Now theres some alcohol, and i watch as she hits off the canteen and passes it to two guys with her. They are immediately tagged as the postmen, in postal service jacket, one tall with a pith helmet and intense eyes and energy, and another shorter with a wet dark curl of hair in the middle of his forehead, same intensity, and it occurs to me these guys are already stoned, on something and now drinking heavily out of the canteen, which keeps getting empty and full again with great rapidity. I m not the only one who notices, and jake comes over, i tell him what's happening and he says "who are those guys, who invited them??" they are definately not in the mellow groove and getting more intense by the minute as they down big swigs of their deadly concoction.

we talk a little and they are kind of interesting and i get a glass of their drink and it tastes good but goes down very easily and they are gulping it. Jake and i get into the same conversation about when to do the maypole dance we always do. he wants to do it now, a slight break in the weather, but i'm sure more people will show up for the big event. "C'mon jake, we want weather! we have the opportunity to do the dance in a raging rainstorm! We gotta wait a bit". He aceeds and we go on with the music playing, i haul out the recorder and start finding it easy to play along and improvise on the tune line.

Finally raymond breaks into the maypole dance tune on the accordian and we flow out onto the field a goodly crowd now about 40 with kids and oldsters, pre, post and syn boomers all ready to dance and play. They select the brightly colored strips and start the dance, in and out, back and forth, winding around. raymond and i lead the band, joiined by a wooden flute and harmonica, and all is smiles all around. People flash by and i telephoto in on the grandkids, heather and jane and jake and even the white dress lady and the postmen are twirling around the pole, a bit unsteady, and still swigging from the canteen.

We wrap it up with a colorful blaze of strips intertwined up and down the pole, people tie off and we play to the bitter end, till the last strip is tied at the bottom and people standing around loving the feeling of community, rebirth and fun we have just had. I move back to the shelter, it starts to rain harder and we huddle together, more smoked steelhead, and i settle into my throne a few drips spoiling my comfort, but nonetheless content to observe play a few tunes on the recorder and talk with passersby. People are packing up, Heather leaves with her gang, beaming smiling at the experience, and both of us rejoicing at what a great time father and daughter can have together.

The crowd shifts a bit and suddenly the postmen are sitting on the cot talking to me. it starts as a banter filled, interesting conversation going in many directions. Pith helmet (PH) is an actor and does voiceovers, bit parts but i ask him where he lives and he becomes evasive, but keeps up the banter. 64 different places in the last year, he finally says. I say wow, you are on the road, now tuning into my latest project, re reading and writing in kerouac style. "i bet you have some great stories, y'know we otta get together and i could write up some of this stuff and maybe publish it". his body stiffens, "not unless you pay me lots of money" "hey no problem, if it happens, it happens," but he cranks it up a notch " i mean thousands", Uh Oh, i'm losing this guy i say. well worth a try. Holding out my notebook and pen "just write your contact info here and well be in touch", he comes unglued "no you're not gonna rip me off for my stories" he says loudly, people start to turn and look to see what's going on. I say "OK, lets forget it" and get up and outta there, passing by Jake who looks at me with a raised eyebrow "pith helmet is outta control, very drunk" "did he insult you? " "no but he's being really weird, and not reacting to reason." I move off and see that pith helmet has come up to the table unsteadily looking at jake, and the short guy is beside him. "Just chill, just chill" jake says in a firm voice. A volley of outrage comes from the guy, while the little guy plunges his hand into the mac salad and crams it into his mouth losing 1/2 of it on the table and ground. Jake cranks it up a notch "cmon you guys, just chill out, this is getting out of hand". The white lady stumbles onto the scene, and Jake starts wooing her, trying to get her to leave, she can barely stand up, i look down and see the segrams bottle is empty lying on the ground next to the empty 7up bottle, they killed the whole bottle in about an hour and are totally out of control.

I go over to another group with big guys and alert them of the situation "Jake needs some backup for these guys" so we move and form a wall behind him. "You guys better be moving along now"Jake in a matter of fact voice. I grab the heavy screwdriver from the back of the pickup and the long pry bar and set them up so they are visible to pith helmet and friends. Jake looks at me and says "cool it Dean, just cool it let me handle this". I stay put behind him as he tries to reason with these guys to no avail. Jake changes tactics, goes to the woman, and gently wins her over "please, we;ve got to get you out of here, no leave the bottles we care of that, but we've really got to go". She gets led gently off by Jake's charm and the other two follow, not letting up on the intensity. They disappear off up the road, 1 mile hike to their car, and just as tall john and i are relaxing saying "great its over, Jake has taken care of every thiing, now we can party".

Just after he says that, the woman in white appears again with jake and pith helmet in tow. Pith helmet (PH) ranting about needing a ride up to his car, she stumbling around, Jake with a puzzled look on his face, as if to say "i tried, what now"?? I take control, now raging with adrenaline and manic energy. Loudly "All right, you’ve got 5 minutes to get into the back of that red pickup and I’ll drive you up, now move your ass! I don’t have any room in front, my guitar is riding shotgun, so you're riding in back, get down low and hang on, we will be going fast" . PH is up immediately, but white dress is stumbling, jake throws her air mattress and net bag into the back of the pickup. I try to use the big screwdriver to open the tail gate, to no avail, its raining harder now, getting dark and its buried in the boughs of a pine tree. I lead her to a chair and she flops up onto the back and i jump in and take off up the bumpy dirt road at a very dangerous rate of speed. I count the things in my favor: they are drunk, hopefully harmless, but i don't know about ph, and check for the pepper spray tear gas canister, not there where it always is, wtf??, oh well, i got the screw driver if i really need something, left the prybar back there at camp, shit.

I stop and get out at jake's driveway. white dress is lying passed out on top of the job box, and i yell at her to get down. she's not moving, so i grab her by the dress and drag her off the box and hear a resounding thunk as she lands in the bottom of the bed of the pickup. "YOu get down too" i yell at ph, "and hang on for dear life, because if you fly out, you're gonna die". Slam the door, slam the gears into 4 wheel hi range and fly up the road. the big bf goodrich knobbys grab the road and slither a little on the clay soils of the wilson grove formation, i start a drift and determine where the traction is on the center divider and drive with right wheels high on the right bank at a crazy angle. I sing the praises of toyota tacoma engineering staff, bilstein shocks and the extra leaf spring risers in the back and become virtually airborn 1/2 the time off the bumps and ruts and rocks. We make good time, i look back once to make sure they are still there and they seem to be, ghosts in the dark thrashing around to the motion.

i pull into the parking lot, and get out, screwdriver in my hand. white dress gets slowly out, "thanks for the ride," a bit unsteady, but around the corner comes ph, wound up like a clock "im gonna beat the shit outta you" and braces looking at me he is weaving back and forth and i see i have the physical advantage, but don't want to do any damage unless absolutely necessary. I lean against the bed of the pickup and sigh loudly as if bored and say in a quiet voice "I don't think thats a very good idea". He looks at me and backs off a little, I waste no time and run out into the parking lot, yelling "everyone, i need help, this guy says he's gonna beat the shit outta me, come out now, i need witnesses" One lady is walking up to her car, takes one look at the situation, and keeps walking. I see exhaust coming out of a volvo wagon, and hammer on the back window with the screwdriver and rip open the door and yell "get out i need help this guy is gonna beat me up", she is scared, judy i recognize from the party, we had a nice conversation, she gets out, and I start back for the pickup. ph is standing there, weaving, "Hey man its cool, im leaving" "OK, but please sleep in your car for a while before you try to drive, there are other people out there." Jump in the cab, and spin outta there, driving doing deep breathing to calm down, back to jane and george’s and sleep the sleep of the dead. no more adrenaline left. totally manic, mellowness calms me down and i sleep fitfully.through the rainy night.




Copyright 2009 (Dean Moriarity) aka Terry Wright
2851 words

da guida-skiing mammoth

Da guida-Win-skiing with an open container. 1/22/09

WTF? No answer at cell or home, he must be on his way and his communication systems have taken a dump. I lean on the side of the pickup in the Mill parking lot at Mammoth, looking for a flash of blue truck and talking to my almost 60 year old sister. She is xc skiing in new Hampshire and is awed by my birthday present: 2 boxes of vintage 45s with all the oldies from the 50s we partied to, a healthy dose of elvis, carl perkins, all the classics. We talk, she trying again to get me to come east for her 60th party, but im scheduled up now with gigs in soco, but im thinking of the possibilities.

“great, here come my skiis” I spy the blue pickup 2 dogs poking their faces out of windows fore and aft, and a smiling face, ringo mop of hair, sharp nose of my ski guide, ski surgeon, painting contractor, neighbor and fellow explorer, win lewis. I sign off with cindy, promising to think about the east trip, maybe combine with a night in las vegas to see “love” with Eileen, that would be cool, but my mind now is rigging for the slopes.

We banter as I struggle with my boots, always a pain to put on, and dress for the worst, a storm is coming in, we can see the minarets disappearing already. This is good, no fresh snow for 2.5 weeks, with a high sitting on the face of California, shunting all moisture to the north. Too long this pattern, global warming again. “gotta get one day a week in, at least, I tuned your skiis and the edges should be nice and sharp, you might find yourself catching edges on the tips, so if you do, ill get a file and detune them, but try em out first, your first day on the hill. Well take it easy and build up, snow is hard and fast,but should be soft lower and on southfacing slopes, Oh I forgot to tell you, my dog in the back had an accident, but I wiped most of the dogshit off of your skiis.” Ugh, dogs again, a constant factor of life with my friends, dog people, I have to accept them as friends, but the dogs are free spirits and will shit anywhere.

Win is the guide; He knows the mountain like the back of his hand, when we ski together we have a constant planning banter going on, wheres the good snow? Where was it good last week? Or last year? We talk with a patrol friend and he gives us some tips, and we are off. Win breaks open his first bottle of beer, skiing one handed with an open container, two more sticking out of his belt pack, First thing we do is ski into the woods and hang out. I'm not sure of my reaction to high elevations, major exercise and a replacement pacemaker, and an ejection fraction of 35% in my left ventricle due to congestive heart failure. We yellow the snow, talk a blue streak about the mountains, new job as surgeon general of the Ski Surgeon ski repain/tuning shop on the mountain. Painting contracts are slow in coming, so he’s picked up an old gig at a new place, more experience, late nights in the shop, big bucks.

“ok we’ll head down some groomers then work our way up toward the top. Get you broken in good and slow. I dunno about any steep stuff, it is hard and fast and if you make a mistake, itll be a long fast slide”. I know of what he speaks, several of these slides off of cornice and dave’s have made me conservative. I survived intact, but the danger of breaking a leg, or conking my head is high, and I don’t want to screw up my great joy of exploring the outdoors. We work our way up to face lift, and he sneaks up on a cute patrol, named Terri, hugs her, and we exchange banter and she gives us more tips on where to go for the good snow. I go over the origin of my name: from william h wright iii my mom extracted terry from tertiary for the third, “a Harvard radcliffe union thing, my parents” both gone now, but still living on, indelibly imprinted on my life and actions. We joke and laugh and shes beautiful, perfect mountain woman, we peel off into the open.

The guide is thinking and talking about the routes, the snow, the infinite possibilities. We head down rooster tail, my first dive off this steep run in soft, mushy, south facing snow and we traverse across to the bowls. “we don’t wanna head down dry creek, big boulders there and monster moguls, well traverse over 2 ridges and down the face, much smoother over there!”
I follow as he skiis with poles in one hand beer in the other down the black diamond steeps, me hanging on for dear life and shaking with joy.

A couple runs on chair 5, good hard snow,but the skis are unsteady, getting knocked around by little ridges of snow, but I handle it, and find I don’t have to rest as much, losing 10 lbs and hiking and acclimatizing has set me up for an enjoyable time, less concerned about being worn out after 2 turns. We look back up at dry creek at the moguls, and down come the military, marines from the mountain training base. “I would have gone that way but it looks like they are struggling, it would have been good for the entertainment value” win comments. Wryly.

I think about being back in nh for the big party, my sibs will all be there as will a good crowd of the old gang, and there will be snow on the mts and we could ski together again, if her adult add doesn’t carry her off on some other tangent. Hmm, maybe I can reschedule, ill see what I can do later.

We break at the mill, he stays out side with his personal beer and I get hot chochlate with a shot of coffee for 2$, the price has gone up, have a great conversation with the teller lady, “its starting to come down out there, big flakes”, “ya I go out every once in a while and get excited!” she smiles and dosent seem to upset about the lack of tip. When the hc was 1.50, there were quarters to burn, and tips were better. Sit by the fire and unwind, aching a bit but feeling better,but definitely tired. A couple more runs this afternoon if the weather doesn’t completely flatten the light looks good. Win sits down, burping from his second beer of the day and we banter, look at the possibilities, I mandate another 10 minutes of rest. We banter with a nice older lady with lots of rings and looking like a tiger of a skier, praying for snow.

Dress up and out into the storm, its getting windy and the big flakes are pelting down, raining at the base, but better up high. We traverse the summer road from the top of 23 in flat flat light, and do a couple runs on the back bowls of 14, exploring the woods once more for another hit. Nice smooth groomers and a little crud, highly varied snow conditions, but im handling it. We coast back to base lodge, win on his 3rd beer. We get to the trucks at 3 and finish off with lunch at angels, fish tacos and hot brandy for me. Rob Henderson joins us, old friend of wins and my buddy, and he produces the photograph I bought last spring a great view of setting sun on mountains and flowery meadow in the foreground, perfectly lit. It is beautifully framed and ready to hang. We bid farewell, I flail around vons, forgetting some stuff and remembering others not noted in my list left in the car along with the cloth bags.

Back across the Benton crossing road, talking to mark, who is headed out south to consult on botany, hes in the big projects now,desert solar farms, all needing to know if they are going to molest some endangered species. I am tired, the house is a mess, but I shower an flop out for 2 hours, no nap this afternoon, and wake to wonder where the princess phone has gone off to. It isn’t in all the usual places and the remote fancy phone is acting up, giving me all kinds of weird beeps and messages and being generally useless. Princess is hiding, and I scour the clutter for her, no where to be found, and I need to make/take calls. This is the second mysterious phone disappearance in several months, what is going on? I finally give up after crawling on all fours poking under furniture and looking in all cabinets, and head over to harrys, to borrow their spare phone. Harry is naked, wrapped in a towel talking to his mom, I wait as june shows me the beautiful Indian portraits her sister did, she is a good artist herself, did a great picture of the mountain during my potlatch party, and her daughter is finishing chico state as an art teacher. She retrieves their spare phone, “you gotta have one of these when the power goes out.” “I know, but mine was stolen, or developed legs and walked off and hid somewhere I cant find.”. Back to the ranch and some calls later to line up more takers for Fridays potluck, should be a blast, with new and old locals, wine, food, talk, banter, Alaska slides, and a show of the last year.

I don’t light the fire, its still warm from this morning’s blaze in the wood stove, and read and write and so to bed, tired but satisfied, my demons quenched for the time being, bubbles carrying them off, drifting silently toward the surface of this nice warm pond.

copyright 2009, Terry Wright

why you wear helmets in mine adits.

hadda mishap yesterday, i was exploring an adit (horizontal mine tunnel) up in the hills looking for an anticline. i found it, but in my excitement, tripped on some rough rocks and did a headfirst dive into razor sharp rocks, punctured my left palm and gotta 4" scalp wound which bled like a stuck pig (no similarity intended)/ luckily i was in good hands with by friend paul, ex cop, and well trained in 1st aid. he drove me to his place on 20 acres off the grid and cleaned up and surveyed the damage. he wanted todrive me to the hospital in bishop (3/4 hr away), but i rested awhile and convinced him i had to go to benton to get my wallet with med cards and my meds list before i went to any hospital.

I checked in with the fire chief, an emt, but he was still at work, and his wife clucked and moaned over me, but also suggested i go to terry and jerrys, shes a nurse. they are friends so i found jerry the ex bronc rider awaiting the immanent return of his wife terry, who is a nurse. She patched me up with some steristrips after cleaning the wounds and giving me more of a haircut than i needed. after agreeing to call after resting for an hour, so i did, and slept most of the evening, finished my book, christopher moores new one "fool" a hysterical takeoff on King Lear from the fools point of view and rested soundly. now contemplating dawn and skiing or resting. hmmmm. either is an option.