Tag: basque

ROCK INSCRIPTIONS: WHEN DOES VANDALISM BECOME HISTORIC? –Jim Stiles (ZX#74)

But when does a carved name on a rock stop being vandalism and take on a historic value of its own? Where do we draw the line? A century? Fifty years? I struggled with that question a lot when I was a ranger, though over the years, I came to believe that every one of these carvings is too special to be removed.

The above inscription has special meaning for me, because I found it during a backcountry patrol in 1977. It would be fairer to say I “re-found” it, many years after other humans, most likely Basque sheepherders had added their own names and comments (whether the ‘B.S.’ next to Julien’s name was an expression of doubt re: the inscription’s authenticity, of it just happened to be the man’s initials, the Julien inscription had surely been seen. but perhaps decades earlier.

I stumbled upon it purely by accident, toward the far north end of the Devils Garden. I saw the Basque inscriptions first and noticed that it was a perfect campsite. It was at the base of a small natural amphitheater—the sandstone tower and fins blocked the weather coming from the north or east. A fifty foot stabilized dune to the west of the site protected campers from the western winds. It was only after I stood directly in front of these larger inscriptions that I noticed Julien’s name. I had heard it before and thought it was worth writing up a report on my find. I had no idea it would create so much interest…

THE WWII BASQUE O.S.S. SPY from New Mexico: (ZX#19) …by Jim Stiles

“My brother and I are Basque, you know. We came from the Pyrenees before the second world war,” Armando explained.

“Really,” I said. “What did you do when you came over here?”

“Well,” he replied, “I went to work for the OSS.”

“The OSS?” I knew what the OSS was…the Office of Strategic Services, the military intelligence agency during World War II. I know my WWII history pretty well, and since I also believe that in my last life I may have been the pilot of a B-24 Liberator in Europe and was shot down over Belgium in August 1944, I could converse fairly intelligently with him on the subject.

“The OSS?” I said. “Did you ever meet the director, Bill Donovan?”

“‘Wild Bill’ Donovan? Of course…I met with him several times in the President’s office.”

“The President’s office? Which president do you mean?”

“Why President Roosevelt’s office. The Oval Office. The White House…”