86 search results for "last float down "

The Irony of Glen Canyon Dam’s Eventual Demise —Jim Stiles (ZX#98)

If you didn’t live through the 1950s, there’s a commonly held but false impression that ‘nothing happened’ during the decade… But the decade of the ‘50s initiated the groundwork, literally, for what was to come. After a decade of the Great Depression and four years of world war. Growth was inevitable, but the explosive growth was stunning…

In order for the arid Southwest to grow far beyond anything that could be called “sustainable,” proponents needed two rare commodities for the arid deserts — water and power. Projects like Glen Canyon Dam and the Powell Reservoir were planned and built with that goal in mind.

Damn sustainability…full speed AHEAD.

OZ: Where Cowboys Wear Shorts, Sip Tea, and Yell “OI!!!” —Jim Stiles (ZX#85)

The toughest, most decent ‘cowboy’ I ever met hasn’t been ‘lanky’ since he was eighteen. He barely reaches 5 foot six inches, and could not, in anyone’s wildest dreams, be regarded as laconic. In fact, it was because of his gift for gab that 25 years later, hestill comes closer than anyone to being like a brother to me. Though he is 10,000 miles away, in the southwest corner of Australia, we are kindred spirits. In fact, he just called this morning and we had, according to Aussie custom, another great “chin wag.” Nobody wags better. (And he doesn’t say, ‘Giddy up.” he shouts “Oi!!!”)

His name is John Wringe and we met at a roadhouse 200 miles north of Perth, while both of us were traveling  south, by bus — me to catch a train, the Indian Pacific, back to Sydney and the long flight home. John had been visiting his son-in-law and was now returning to his home, 150 miles south of Western Australia’s (WA) capital…

SEARCHING for KLATU & MY UFO VACATION —Jim Stiles (ZX#68)

Suddenly, one of the assistant scoutmasters, Mr Schneider yelled, “What the hell…heck is that?” (He didn’t want to corrupt his boys). We all looked skyward as he pointed to three bright lights moving silently across the sky. It was like nothing any of us had ever seen before. Imagine a pencil dangling from a string, in total darkness, but with three lights attached to it, at both ends and the middle. It almost appeared to be wobbling across the sky. We were all speechless. It crossed our field of view diagonally, then paused, pivoted on its front light, and changed direction. As it disappeared over the tree line, the three lights seemed to waver, like a snake crossing open ground. It’s been more than half a century since that night. But I was hooked.

When we finally got home, my parents asked about the hike, but all I could talk about was the UFO.

THE MYTH of ‘PROGRESS’— Revealed by Traditional Navajo Wisdom … by Harvey Leake (ZX#60)

The position of these men (like John Wesley Powell) and many others in the Federal Government was that Native Americans were stuck in the barbaric stage and needed to be civilized. The Bureau of Indian Affairs, since their inception in 1849, implemented a number of unsuccessful strategies to bring the Indians “up” to modern intellectual and moral standards, while failing to acknowledge that the divide was fundamentally a philosophic one. William Henry Holmes, who had responded to B. K. Wetherill’s first letter, later expressed the violent aspect of the government approach. He believed that the dominant culture was destined predominate and that “the complete absorption or blotting out of the red race will be quickly accomplished. If peaceful amalgamation fails, extinction of the weaker by less gentle means will do the work.

Powell elaborated on Morgan’s theory in two articles: “From Savagery to Barbarism” and “From Barbarism to Civilization”. He maintained that civilized society is not only technologically and intellectually superior, but morally superior as well. “In savagery, the beasts are gods; in barbarism, the gods are men; in civilization, men are as gods, knowing good from evil,” he wrote.

Rangers Lloyd Pierson & Lyle Jamison: Remembering Arches, Moab & Ed Abbey in the 50s: from 1989 & 1992 Interviews —w/ Jim Stiles (ZX#58)

In 1989, my own seasonal ranger “career,” (if you could call it that) had ended, much to the relief of most park managers over the GS-7 pay level. But I still maintained good friendships with some of the older NPS staff, many of whom had retired years earlier but who had decided to live in Moab. I was particularly blessed to call two park veterans, Lloyd Pierson and Lyle Jamison, as dear friends. While newer park personnel loathed my irreverent, outspoken side, Lyle and Lloyd appreciated it. In fact, Lloyd’s humor was somewhat biting, and he was always willing to speak his mind, and let the chips fall where they may. He gave new meaning to the expression “unbridled candor.” It’s why, so many years ago, I concluded that, “When I grow up, I want to be just like Lloyd Pierson.” I’m still working on it.

Lloyd Pierson was the Chief Ranger at Arches from 1956 to 1961. He and Superintendent Bates Wilson oversaw the Mission 66 project during those most tumultuous years. The building of a new road was inevitable, and so both men played a role in determining the new highway alignment in a way that would have the least impact on the park they both loved.
Lyle Jamison worked as the Monument administrative officer from 1959 to 1960, but as they both later explain in this story, his duties in those days were “wide and varied.” . Lyle took another job in the NPS system that year, but a decade later returned to the newly formed Canyonlands National Park. It was Lyle who oversaw the hiring of seasonal rangers at Arches. I had signed on as a volunteer in the winter of 1975-76 but applied for the Arches seasonal campground job and often stopped by the old headquarters office downtown to check on my status. Using every technique possible, I told him that at volunteer pay I could not sustain myself on a diet of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Finally one day in March I poked my head in his office and Lyle looked up and grinned, “Stiley!”

…Lloyd retired from the Park Service a few years before my arrival but was a well-known face in Moab. A historian by trade, Pierson was an active board member of the Moab Museum and his frequent letters to the Moab Times-Independent were legendary. Lyle retired from government service just a few years after my arrival. But like Lloyd, he was hooked on Moab. He and his wonderful wife Lois bought a home in Spanish Valley and stayed active in local issues related to the parks.

When I decided to start The Zephyr, I was anxious to use it as a way of keeping and preserving the history of Southeast Utah. The first two people I sought out were Lloyd and Lyle. One cold morning in January 1989, I coerced both of these guys to take a ride with me through Arches to remember and recall the “good old days,” and observe the changes that have occurred over the years. We all bundled into my 1963 Volvo and I sat a tape recorder on the dashboard. I pushed the record button and off we went.. The overriding theme was: What’s changed? What’s here now that wasn’t here then? How different does this place feel to you? For the next hour and a half, they talked and I mostly listened…

Desolation. And Abundance: the Unexpected Comfort of Canyon Rapids, Origin & Family—By Brandon Hill (ZX#49)

The river, when functioning accordingly, is a great democracy. “River Democracy.” All are equal. All are welcome. All are held accountable to one another for sustenance. If you can’t contribute, or perhaps more specifically, will not contribute, you will not be invited back. But if you can, as I have learned, you will be welcomed into one of the greatest gifts known to humankind; the River Family.

Family has never been easy for me. I have a hard time telling my mother “I love you” (even though I clearly do), and I tend to stay immersed in the day-to-day happenings of my own life that I forget to call and check in regularly. I have never been a great sibling to my younger brothers and sister. While I love them to death, our upbringing was, at times, chaotic and unstructured.

But on the river, family is a necessity. One of the greatest joys of the river is accountability to one another. To rely on one another. To help one another. To know that we are all in this together, for better or worse. Aside from running a class III or IV, this is one of the most enjoyable yet fundamental elements of river running with a group. Adhesion and effort. But on this trip, “family” had a new dynamic because, after almost a lifetime of existence, I had just met my biological father weeks before. And though he wasn’t with me physically on this river journey, his presence was very much felt.

SPELUNKING the CAVE that was BURIED ALIVE: 1964…and now— Jim Stiles (ZX# 46)

We emerged from the cornfield into a huge pasture dead ahead and a magnificent forest to our right. Just a few hundred yards in front of us, I could see several small clusters of trees, like little forested islands. In fact, I can still remember there were four of them, in a row, each one perhaps a hundred yards from the next. “You see that fourth cluster? That’s it.” Hotard said.

From a distance, it looked like nothing. I was crestfallen. I was hoping for more. “That’s it?” I asked skeptically. “Just wait,” Hotard grinned. We came to the edge of the copse of trees and sure enough, Steve was spot on. We’d come across a sink hole; it was about 100 feet wide and maybe 40 feet deep. At the very bottom of this steep but easily descended slope (we were 12), we saw a horizontal limestone ledge. It was perhaps 15 or 20 feet wide and at the opening, no more than four feet high. At the time I was barely four feet high, so I didn’t even have to bend over. Dutton was the gangly member of our spelunking team, but all he needed to do was duck a bit.

It was very much a living cave. Water was flowing through it, coming from a source north (or to the left of us). But the opening in that direction was too narrow for any of us, even me, to enter. None of us had expected the water, but we didn’t care. We turned on our flashlights, sloshed through the water in our tennis shoes, and ventured into the darkness

“I LONGED for the WESTERN LIFE.”–HERB RINGER’S Great Adventure — Jim Stiles (ZX#39)

NOTE: I’m posting this in the afternoon of December 11. My old friend Herb Ringer died 24 years ago today. I have shared his pictures and stories for the entire life of this publication. And I’ve written a few about my dear friend. This story combines parts of past stories and introduces some new ones as well. And more pictures, of course. He is still missed after a quarter of a century, especially by me—JS

EXCERPT:
“Herb,” I’ll ask, “Here’s a picture of you on horseback and in the next picture there’s a girl on her hands and knees under her horse. What’s that all about?”

His worn out eyes sparkle. “Yes!” he smiles, “That’s Skippy. That was in the High Sierras in about 1942. She loved her horse and the horse would do anything for her. She bet me she could sit right under it and I didn’t believe her. So she climbed down and crawled right under the horse’s front legs. So, I took a picture. And that night I bought her a steak dinner.”

I could hear Herb moving things about in his closet and a few moments later he emerged from the bed room, a manila-covered album held tenderly in his hands. He returned to his chair, a bit winded from the short trip, and then he placed the large book in my lap. It was the size and shape of a photo album but was covered with brown wrapping paper and held together with yellowed Scotch tape. I opened the binding to the first page….

GOD BROKE THE MOLD WHEN HE MADE KARL TANGREN…by Jim Stiles (ZX#27)

I’m here today, NOT to complain about the lack of uniqueness in this bland culture of ours. but to celebrate it when we find it. In this case, as the title suggests, we can gratefully report of a place where “God broke the mold,” in Moab, Utah.

God created Karl Tangren, scratched His chin and either said, “This kid is too amazing to ever duplicate,” or concluded, “I don’t think the world could handle TWO Karl Tangrens at the same time.” My guess is —it’s a bit of both. One thing’s for sure…

There’s only one Karl Tangren.

We don’t get to choose where we enter this world, but Karl Tangren was born in the right place at the right time. You could say his timing was perfect. He landed on Planet Earth via Moab, Utah on September 22, 1931. He lived with his family in a little house on the west side of Main Street, between 100 and 200 North. It’s about where the Love Muffin Coffee shop operates today. In 1931, the streets weren’t paved and cottonwoods shaded most of Main Street. From their front porch, the Tangrens could see the red cliffs on the east side of town, and beyond them, the La Sal Mountains.

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

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!”