Tag: Grand Canyon

BITING BUGS & POISON IVY: “Why God?” — Jim Stiles (ZX#100)

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I was a newly initiated Boy Scout, officially a Tenderfoot, and had traveled with Troop 246 to a summer Boy Scout camp at Rough River, Kentucky. We had planned a canoe trip for the next day, but early that afternoon, we set up camp in an open field. As I sat in the tall grass chatting with my pals, I suddenly felt an uncomfortable itch emanating from the most sensitive part of the male anatomy. I said nothing at first, and was not about to share my problem with my buddies. Besides, I was a Boy Scout. It was still okay to be stoic, to admire stoicism, and endure discomfort bravely, and quietly, like Gary Cooper or Jimmy Stewart might do. I said nothing…

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HERB RINGER— 25 Years After He Left Us: December 11, 1998 —Jim Stiles (ZX#92)

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On December 11, 1998, twenty-five years ago today, my friend Herb Ringer passed away in Fallon, Nevada. He was 85 years old. His health had been failing for a few years. In 1994, Herb was forced to give up driving — the greatest joy of his life — when he was diagnosed with a rapidly deteriorating case of macular degeneration. I had met up with him that summer at a high mountain lake above Crested Butte, Colorado. Earlier that week, an optometrist in Salida had diagnosed his condition and warned Herb that he needed to head home to Fallon immediately. Herb took the news stoically, maybe better than I did, and he left for Fallon the next day.

…this story is personal; it’s more about our friendship than his special artistic talents, though both are forever intertwined. I’d like to tell you more about Herb Ringer, the good-hearted, decent man and loyal friend that he became to me. We were connected in a way that I have rarely experienced. Herb once said, “You’re the son I never had.” The feeling was mutual.

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The ‘ZEPHYR AMERICA’ Files…Volume 1 —(Horses, Sunsets, Grain Silos, Tucumcari & Pinky) —Jim Stiles (ZX#76)

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A compilation of the Zephyr America series that appears exclusively on the Zephyr Facebook page (almost every Wednesday morning). These posts contain additional photographs not seen on Facebook…

…For the last few months, I’ve added a regular feature for those of you who follow us on the Zephyr Facebook page. But many of you don’t and, of course, as the latest FB post drops lower and lower on your screen and disappears from sight, it disappears from mind as well…at least it does me. So every couple of months, I’m going to compile the best of them here, in one website post. If you enjoy going back and having a look, it will be much easier now…In this first compilation I range from horses and cows, to sunsets and Tucumcari, New Mexico, to birds of any color, to Pinky, the Divine Dog of Buyeros, New Mexico…

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JOHN RIFFEY: THE LAST ‘LONE RANGER’ by Edie Eilender (ZX#64)

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Riffee came to Tuweap in 1942. Came out to spend one night to see if he would like it and ended up staying almost 40 years. “Don’t think that I could have found a better place for me to work and spend a life, “ he once said. “When I retire I’m going to live right down the road; a place good enough to work at is good enough to die at.”

In 1942 Tuweap was part of the Grand Canyon National Monument and Riffee’s main job was working with the ranchers who had grazing permits in the Monument. Over the years the job changed as ranching declined and recreation increased. Later, the Monument became part of the park. Riffee was there for it all.

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Hitchhiking Across America (December 1972)— A Really Dumb Idea —Jim Stiles (ZX#57)

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Suddenly Schreiber appeared around the corner. He’d run back to the Alto Nido, grabbed every guy he could find, and they all came running back to “save” me. I was impressed! They were ready to rumble. Barry was breathing heavily. He may have been armed with a golf club.

“Hold on!” I said diplomatically. “These men are officers of the law. They mistook me for an armed bandit.” By now the detectives had uncuffed me and though they never actually apologized, they did acknowledge that while I looked like the suspect, there was “reason to believe” I was not that man.

I decided I was not meant to be here. But my VW was just hammered. I didn’t know if it could make the trip home. I calculated that I had driven 22,000 miles in the last six months. It wasn’t really like I missed home anyway…I just didn’t know what else to do. And I was yet again almost broke. It was at that moment that the idea of hitchhiking across the country, more than 2500 miles, with a 75 pound Husky, in the middle of the winter, began percolating in my brain.

“Stiles…are you crazy?” Schreiber said. “It may be warm here, but once you’re out of here, you’re going to freeze your ass off…and besides…HITCHHIKING? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? Have you heard of Charlie Manson? That was only three years ago. Do you know how many crazy people are out there? Or just plain mean? Don’t do it.”

I said, “Would you give Muckluk and me a ride as far as San Bernardino?”

Schreiber shook his head. “Sure, I’ll ride you that far. Damn Stiles, you are one crazy son of a bitch.”

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ONLY STUPID PEOPLE WINTER CAMP: A Confession — by Jim Stiles (ZX#37)

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My buddy Tynes and I set out for Jackson, Wyoming on the 27th of December in an MGB convertible. We were 19. We battled snow and wind across the Great Plains and into Wyoming on I-80. When we exited at Rock Springs, conditions got worse. The road was snow packed for 180 miles. Near Bondurant, we struggled to put chains on the car but our hands froze after just a few moments outside the car. The MG itself provided very little respite–outside it was -37 F; INSIDE our little sports car, my thermometer read -5 F. Downright toasty if you measured things relatively. There was a small store there and though the lights were off, we knocked anyway, hoping to get a cup of coffee. A woman finally came to the door and opened it a crack. “We’re closed! Can’t you see that? Why are you out in this weather?”

“We’re trying to get to Jackson,” I replied through the blowing snow.

She looked at us like we were insane. “Do you know how cold it is? It’s 37 degrees BELOW ZERO!!!”

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Encounters with the Sublime: Quentin Roosevelt’s Western Adventures —By Harvey Leake (ZX#35)

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“The man should have youth and strength who seeks adventure in the wide, waste spaces of the earth […]. The grandest scenery of the world is his to look at if he chooses; and he can witness the strange ways of tribes who have survived into an alien age from an immemorial past […]. The joy of living is his who has the heart to demand it.”

—Theodore Roosevelt, 1916

On July 13, 1913, fifteen-year-old Quentin Roosevelt peered into the depths of the Grand Canyon for his first time. He and his compatriots had just arrived by train at the South Rim, and they lost no time making their way to the edge to gaze into the awesome chasm. Leading the group was Quentin’s father, Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, who called the view “the most wonderful scenery in the world.” Also on the team were Quentin’s older brother, Archie, his second cousin, Nicholas Roosevelt, and a skilled outdoorsman named Jesse Cummins from Mesa, Arizona, who would serve as the head cook, packer, and horse wrangler for the long excursion they were starting.

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BEFORE INSTAGRAM KILLED THE POSTCARD #1: Classics of Moab & Vicinity—Jim Stiles (ZX#28)

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When was the last time someone sent you a post card? A ‘picture post card?’ I honestly can’t recall seeing one of those once iconic symbols of American travelers in years. Maybe even decades.

According to some company called Global Edge, we Americans at one time bought and mailed more than 20 million postcards each year. But those days are fading fast—even five years ago the numbers had declined by almost 75% to just 5 million.

But there was a Golden Age of Postcards, when they not only offered the best way to share a vacation memory and keep friends and family informed as to their travels, they were also, in many cases, true works of art. I’ve been collecting old postcards for decades and it’s time I shared a few with The Zephyr readers…

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REMEMBERING GEORGIE (WHITE) CLARK— “Woman of the River” by Anne Snowden Crosman (ZX#22)

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Then she met Harry Aleson, a fellow Sierra Club member and explorer. Aleson showed her slides of his hikes in the canyon country of Arizona and Utah. Georgie was hooked. A new world opened up and she suggested they hike it together. She and Harry became friends, and over the years, they covered many miles. Twice they floated down the Colorado River of the Grand Canyon.

“I was out here on the river 25 years when there was absolutely nobody here,” she recalls. “All the people on my trips depended on me, period. There wasn’t nobody else. There was no helicopters, there was NOTHING down here. The park rangers were not here. That was before the dams were built. These were long trips, one- and two-week trips.” At 80, she is strong in body and mind. She takes pride in not being emotional. “My mother taught us not to cry. We don’t have that emotion. I don’t have it about marriage or nothing. I was never one who had stars in my eyes. I was not one who grew up wantin’ or being man-crazy. In fact, the men had to prove theirself to me!”

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HERB RINGER at the GRAND CANYON (The Complete Collection: 1950-1957) ZX#18

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During the past 34 years, I’ve mostly limited the range of Herb’s photos to the West. But Herb traveled all over America and into Canada. Though this issue starts with a very familiar and beloved location–the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, future editions will expand Herb’s work to locations from California to New England. At some point when I can find the time (like when I quit mowing the grass), I’d like to make this feature our second “Zephyr Extra” of the week, appearing each Thursday. I may not always be able to live up to that plan, but I will do my best. We’ll see how it goes.

Herb and I spent countless hours together over the years. He gave me all his old images, his journals and other memorabilia of his life. He started to lose his eyesight during the last few years and I often visited him at his home in Fallon, Nevada. After his passing, I wrote a long story about my buddy and mentor. I will include the link here but I wanted to share this one passage from it:

“His mind is as clear and crisp as the Rocky Mountain streams he spent summers by, in years past. But his body is failing him. As I watched Herb disappear into his darkened bed room, I knew he was making his way there by memory as well. His eyesight has deteriorated to the point where he can’t even see the vast collection of photographs he took of his favorite places over the last half a century. But he can still enjoy them. He pointed a finger to his head and said, ‘In here, I can still see everything.’”

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