A CHRISTMAS STORY

Christmas time is a time for remembering the birth of the Christ Child, of reflection, and of giving service to others. It is also a time for Christmas parties, and tonight we had been invited to just such a party with some of our old neighborhood friends.

When we arrived, we parked the car and started walking up towards the front door, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a........... a major award! Yes, there it was, occupying its rightful place of honor right in the front window. The “major award”, the most sought after prize of memorabilia, the ubiquitous “leg lamp”. Where or how they got it I don’t know, but there it was, heralding in the beginning of the Christmas Season.

Once inside the home we were greeted by what looked like Mr. and Mrs. Clause, but who were really our good friends, Mary and Rawley.


Their home had been decorated just as “Ralphie” had described his childhood home, there on Cleveland Street, in the film classic “A Christmas Story”. The smells emanating from the kitchen told us that a Christmas feast was in preparation. Large pots of meatballs, sauce and homemade lasagna were cooking on the stove.

The whole house spoke of Christmas; there was a brightly decorated Christmas tree standing in the corner; the tables had been set up with dishes and napkins which were embossed with Christmas logos, all just waiting for the guests to be seated around.

M&M’s were placed in every corner, on every shelf and on every table. Wait a minute, M&M’s; that’s not a Christmas tradition. Well, maybe not in anyone else’s home, but they sure were here. There were small packages of M&M’s placed on the tables, on the shelves, and on the tree. There were miniature M&M characters occupying almost every spare space throughout the house. There were large M&M dolls propped up in corners, on beds, and sitting in chairs.

As we toured through the house looking at all of the antiques, memorabilia and Christmas decorations, I spied the infamous fuse box. Yes, the one that Ralphie’s dad had been so adept at in replacing a blown fuse that there was hardly an interruption in the festivities at all.

Walking down the hall I found an open door; it was, …… the basement. The portal which would allow access to the very gates of hell, housing that dreaded furnace; the coal burning, smoke belching, clinker growing furnace. We dared not venture down into the belly of the beast even though we were assured that the old coal burning furnace had been replaced long ago with a modern gas flame variety.
 

We had viewed most everything in the Christmas House when I spied something different; a new type of “mini-me”, a miniature version of the famous “major award”. It had to be a “minor award”, a smaller version of the awesome “major award” leg lamp. So cute, so adorable; where on earth did they get it? None the less, there it was, occupying its rightful place in the rear window of the home.

It had been a wonderful night, full of merriment, good food, good company, and wonderful memories. Complete with a house full of memorabilia which brought back visions of a simpler life and a simpler time. The only thing missing was an adorable pink bunny outfit just like that one Aunt Clara had made for Ralphie.

BEEN THERE, DONE THAT

SUPERSTITION MOUNTAIN –

THE FLATIRON

by Gary Hyde

February 21, 2001

 Living at the base of Superstition Mountain, waking to the first rays of sun as they illuminate the towering cliffs and crevices of the mountain, then watching the vivid color changes which occur as the sun sets, it was easy for me to say “yes” when my neighbor Gerry asked if I would join him on a hike to the Flatiron. The Flatiron is a craggy mesa atop the western side of the Superstition Mountain at an elevation of 5024 feet above sea level.

The day of the hike we hopped in the car and headed for the trailhead at the Lost Dutchman Campgrounds. Along the way, we picked up my friend Don who had previously expressed an interest in the climb. As we drove through the park entrance, the ranger handed us a map of the park trails. It showed that the trail to the Flatiron headed east up the slopes of Superstition Mountain into Siphon Draw. “Siphon Draw trail is a well marked 1.6 mile trail to the basin. The remaining 2.8 miles to Flatiron is on a non-maintained, non-designated trail, and it is advised that only experienced hikers in good shape attempt to hike to the top, as the trail is steep and difficult to follow”. That described us to a tee. Three individuals, retired from the everyday humdrum of a working life, and dedicated to the pure pursuit of pleasure.

The lower slopes of the mountain were still in the morning shade and covered with wild flowers that had not yet opened to the warmth of the sun. The trail up to the basin, as with many other trails in the Superstition wilderness, was littered with fist sized chunks of rock, making it a necessity to be observant and watch where each new step was going to be placed. This was a far cry from the fir needle-cushioned trails I had been accustomed to while hiking in the Pacific Northwest

Once we reached Siphon Draw the canyon began to narrow. To the right is a large rock formation called Crying Dinosaur. The vertical head and neck of the dinosaur and the V-shaped mouth are visible from the trail. A long crack in the rock near the eye looks like a tear. This formation is a popular destination for local rock climbers. Beyond is a smooth rock basin, which extends about 200 feet up the canyon. It forms a natural funnel, which, during the winter monsoon storms, collects the water that drains down from further up the canyon, including all the runoff from the surrounding cliffs, and sends it gushing down the mountain. A large pile of boulders at the bottom of the basin is evidence of the awesome power the runoff water could have.

Halfway up the basin we were passed by a couple of other hikers, Solomon and a visiting friend from Vancouver B.C., Canada. Solomon had produced a digital camera from his pack with which he offered to take our pictures. Once taken, the picture was immediately visible on a screen on the back of the camera. The image could then be downloaded to a computer and printed off, or sent to some close admirer via e-mail. This was great. (Note to self: Get one!). After the photo session we exchanged e-mail addresses and promised to exchange pictures. Solomon and his friend continued on up the draw while we marveled about the advances of modern technology.

Resuming our trek, we soon reached the end of the smooth rock portion of the basin and, just as the park map had indicated, the trail disappeared. Searching for the best way to continue, we decided to travel up the bottom of the ravine. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves climbing over steep walls of rock six to seven feet high. I see what they mean by calling this a difficult climb. After crawling over a steep ledge of large rocks and boulders we looked up to the side of the ravine only to find our friend Solomon, smiling down and waving at us as he walked along a fairly good trail. Swallowing our pride, we clambered over more boulders till we finally reached the trail. Once on the trail we could see that it had been marked with occasional spots of white paint. But still, owing to the difficulty of the trail, it was sometimes dubious as to the intent of which way the marks were intended to lead.

During our frequent rest stops, we would look back to see how much of an elevation gain we had made. The elevation change from the trailhead to the Flatiron is 2781 feet, with the bulk of the gain in the last 2.8 miles. At first we looked out over the gentle downward slopes of the mountain. A short while later we were looking out over the small town of Goldfield, and as we climbed higher the descent of the canyon was so steep that just looking back would make me dizzy as if looking out over the edge of a high cliff.

At one point as we were making our way up a steep portion of the trail, we were passed by a young woman dressed in black lycra pants, with a short sleeved tee. She smiled and wished us well on our hike as she sped on by. Muttering to ourselves that if she kept up that pace, she would never make it to the top, we continued on.

As the trail got steeper, we were often pulling ourselves up by our hands, taking steps of two to three feet in elevation gain at a time. Now, it’s a rule of hiking in the desert country that you never put your hands or feet where you can’t see, lest there be a rattle snake or some other desert creature waiting for you on the other side. On many occasions we not only unable to see where to put our hands, but we couldn't even see the top of the rocks we were scaling. Fortunately it was mid-February and there were no poisonous snakes around, at least not that we could see.

Pulling ourselves up an exceptionally steep portion of the trail and scaling a twelve-foot embankment of boulders we finally reached the summit. From there the trail gently rose and curved over to our right. Looking up we could see over to the Flatiron, a flat mesa that narrowed to a point at the edge of the mountain and resembled the shape of a flatiron. There were already several hikers there, our friend Solomon and his companion, another small hiking group, and a single man incessantly talking on a cell phone; glory has no meaning unless you can share it with someone else.

We all said our hellos, commented on the difficulty, or ease, of the hike, took pictures, and sat down and enjoyed our lunch, and a well-deserved rest. The overhead sun warmed our bodies, and a cool breeze refreshed us. Looking down from the Flatiron we could see wild flowers that completely covered many areas of the lower mountain slopes. A soft yellow hue of flowers on a green background of brittlebush and grass covered the slopes leading to the main drainage systems of the mountain.

After we had finished our lunch and rested for a while, we decided to hike the last mile up to the pinnacle of the mountain, the Hoodoos, a craggy rock formation that forms the very top of the Superstition Mountain. The view from the top of the Hoodoos is magnificent. To the north you see the back slopes of the Superstition Mountain, the headwaters of West Boulder Canyon and First Water Creek. The Massacre Grounds are further to the northwest with the Four Peaks Mountains lying in the distance. Moving our eyes towards the west, we see the city of Fountain Hills nestled in the foothills west of the Fort McDowell Indian Reservation. Further to the left, the horizon becomes more obstructed by the ever present haze of pollution. It wasn’t too bad today however, as we could at least see the outline of Camelback Mountain. Directly to the west lay the city of Phoenix, with its cluster of tall buildings struggling to be made out through the brownish gray haze. For a moment, I reflected on a period in my life back in the ‘60’s when, for five wonderful years I lived in Phoenix. The city was smaller, the air was cleaner and life was simpler. Now, twenty-five years later, there was a blanket of brownish haze, which extended from the north of Scottsdale, down through Phoenix, and then south along the I-10 freeway corridor. Looking to the southwest, I can barely make out South Mountain, and the Santan mountain range.

Sweeping our gaze around to the left, the brownish haze turns into the more natural silver-bluish haze of the desert. Just a few miles down the southern slopes of the mountain, I could see the community of MountainBrook Village, where I lived. The entire village seemed slightly larger than a MasterCard credit card. Eagle Rock, a prominent landmark was now just a small blip on the desert floor. We were on top of it all. “Bow down ye sniveling masses, riding in your electric golf carts while putting in a strenuous 18 holes of golf, for we are kings of the mountain”. We had arrived.

After gaining my humble composure once again, I looked off towards the east and could just see the edge of Picketpost Mountain. Just north of the ridge of the Superstitions was the famed Weavers Needle, a prominent landmark described in the Legend of the Lost Dutchman’s Gold. Then following along the ridge of the Superstition Mountain is, Uh…. Oh, Oh. The easternmost peak on the mountain looks higher than the Flatiron Hoodoos, which we are on. Indeed upon closer examination of my map I see that the Hoodoos are marked at 5024 feet and this other peak is marked at 5057 feet. My apologies to everyone for my delusions of grandeur, but still, this is one tall peak.

I was not looking forward to the trip down the mountain. It is bad enough climbing up hand over hand, but for me, going down was just as strenuous, if not more. My mother had often complained of weak ankles. “If I had stronger ankles, I could have been a great dancer, or a figure skater” she would say. Well, I must have inherited some of that weakness. Even on flat ground, a well placed crack or rock can send me plummeting down towards the earth, and here where a fall can continue for hundreds of feet, I picked my steps very carefully. But alas, there always those with stronger ankles and thicker heads for it wasn’t long before we were passed by a young man who was virtually flying down the canyon through the same cracks and crevices which we had to study out, and take several well placed mini-steps to navigate.

And then, she came. That girl, the one who had passed us on the way up. Black lycra pants, with a short sleeved tee, wearing her headphones and bounding down the mountainside. I swear I had met her sister who overtook us on a previous hike along the Mormon Trail in South Mountain Park. She slowed down just long enough to say hello, so I asked her what she thought of the climb. “I just wanted to see how hard it was” she exclaimed. “And the verdict” I asked? “Just as hard as I had remembered it from when I was a little girl” she replied. Thank goodness. At least that was some consolation for all our hard climbing, scratched arms and legs, and torn and sweaty clothing.

We continued down the mountain in silence. For the most part we were able to stay on the trail, even so marveling in awe at some of the rocky terrain we had traversed and rock ledges we had climbed. As we emerged from the canyon of Siphon Draw, the most spectacular view of the day was to greet us. It was now 3:00 p.m., and the warm sun had beckoned all the flowers to open their colorful blossoms and turn their heads towards its life giving heat. There were vast fields of the yellow brittle bush flower, pockets of gold from the Golden Poppies, all shining even brighter than old Jacob Waltz’s fabled gold. There were delicate hues of purple lupines accented with the pale orange of the Red Mallow. This is one of the most spectacular displays of wild flowers I have ever seen. With the abundance of moisture from the winter rains, it seemed as if the entire ground had been covered with a yellow pigment from the artists’ sponge.

Aching and weary, but well pleased, we headed down the trail to the parking lot. Glad to arrive at the truck, but sad to leave the beauties of the mountain, we discussed the hike. “The Flatiron? Oh yea, it’s an all right hike. Been there, done that”. But now, looking to the future, we all agreed that we must find the trail that leads to the higher eastern peak, the 5057-foot elevation of the Superstition Mountain.

Narin Falls

Have you ever watched a sunrise or sunset and thought “WOW! This is just the way I feel today. Or have you examined the rings an old tree stump and recalled memories of events in your life that correlated with the age of the tree? Many occurrences in nature imitate life as reflections of a similar type of event in our lives. We find such a correlation in Narin Falls.

Narin Falls Provincial Park is located on the Sea to Sky Highway in British Columbia, Canada, just 24 km north of Whistler, or about 2 1/2 km south of Pemberton.

The falls are located within the park boundaries about 1.5 km from the parking lot and are accessible by a level well maintained trail. The falls, which drop about 60 meters, occur where the Green River runs into bedrock once part of the ancient seabed, making a natural step in the valley floor. We had caught a glimpse of the falls earlier from the road and decided to walk the short distance back and get a closer look.

The trail is easy walking as it follows the river through a forest of western hemlock, red hemlock, Douglas-fir and the flowering pacific dogwood. Wild flowers, brush, and trees with colorful autumn leaves adorned the banks of the river, providing a natural beauty as we made our way in toward the falls. The river supplies the lifeblood for the area; providing recreational swimming, fishing and rafting for nearby communities, as well as drinking water for man, livestock, and wildlife.

The roar of rushing water as it cascades over the falls tells us of that we are nearing our destination. A large outcropping of rock at the end of the trail provides a great viewing platform. You can see how the erosive forces of water have cut through the rock, a combination of volcanic rock and shale, to form the bed of the river and the falls.

An interpretative sign placed near the viewing area reads;

“Over time, water and glaciers have brought many changes to this landscape. The Green River in front of you carries sand and gravel which have worn away the bedrock. When the river water moves in a circular motion, these abrasive particles carve round depressions called pot holes. Occasionally, this carving causes the bottom of the neighboring pot holes to join through an underground passage”.

As you look at the Narin Falls these potholes are easily identifiable, some of them are nothing more than a small divot in the rock, while others reach six to seven meters in diameter.

Nairn Falls is a dramatic example of the great erosive power that water can have. The "potholes" have been created in the base rock over time as small pebbles and sand get caught in a swirling eddy of water tossed to and fro cutting ever-deepening circles into the rock. The winter storms may wash the smaller potholes clean, but then deposit even larger rocks; chipping, scraping, gouging away at the sides and bottom of the hole in an ever widening, ever deepening erosive action.

To the viewer the falls and the river appear to be unchanged by all these destructive forces, but over time these potholes have altered the very channel of the falls and course of the river. The river still gives beauty to the area, it still provides moisture and nourishment to the animals and the surrounding land, the water still flows toward the sea, but the turmoil within the river is slowly eating away at the very foundation of the riverbed.

Like Narin Falls, we can suffer a similar type of erosive power in our lives. We experience the “potholes” of life which can be just as dramatic and just as devastating as those in the falls, but instead of rocks or boulders acting as the abrasive power we supply or own type of irritant.

These irritants can come from many different sources, real or imagined. There seems to be no event too great or happening too small that we can’t view it as an “unforgivable” sin, and thus hang onto it, storing it away in our memory bank to be recalled later during some period of stress or anger. The actual source of these irritants may stem from a multitude of reasons, such as an expanded ego or a denial of self worth; believing that we are always right, or being ungrateful. Often times we take ourselves too seriously feeling that life has dealt us an unfair hand or that we are always the victim. Greed of any kind can drive us to making poor choices and decisions. Holding on to our emotional baggage and keeping it hidden deep within can prevent us from experiencing a real joy in our life. Some tend to focus on things that they do not have rather than what they do have and the good things they have accomplished. We often fail to forgive others or even ourselves for mistakes, errors or failures. It is too easy to judge others by our standards rather their own merits. The reasons are many and varied for which we tend to pile this guilt upon ourselves.

The accumulation of these “potholes “in life can take a real emotional or physical toll on mind and body, manifesting themselves through loss of sleep, irritability, poor health or even a mental breakdown.

Unlike the Narin Falls we have a real solution for the cleansing of our minds and bodies from these imperfections, these transgressions or sins; and that is through the act of repentance and forgiveness.

Yet, rather than repenting of our acts and asking for forgiveness, or offering forgiveness to someone who has trespassed against us we ask “How can I forgive such a heinous act”? “How can I forgive such a personal insult”? “How can I forgive”?

But we can forgive, and we must forgive. We have been commanded to forgive. The Lord has told us: “Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin. I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men”. (D&C 64:9-10)

When Christ was crucified on the cross, His final words were “Father, forgive them”. (Luke 23:34).  He was asking the Father to forgive those who had just falsely accused Him; to forgive those who had just beaten and scourged Him and nailed Him to the cross, to hang there until dead; to forgive those who, even in His most painful moments offered not compassion, but ridicule, not sorrow but hate. He knew that they would not repent, He knew that they did not care, and that they would not care for more than 2000 years; yet still He asked, “Father, forgive them”.

Forgive them; how hard it is for us to say these two simple words; I’m not the one at fault here, why should I be the one to forgive; it is up to them to do the repenting. The Lord tells us “I the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.” (D&C 64:10).

But it happens all the time, time and time again! How many times must we forgive someone?

The Lord tells us “Until seventy times seven.” (Matthew 18:22).

People can and do change and it is our duty to forgive them.

Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ has provided the atonement that we may be cleansed from all sin and become pure before Him.

How many years have you lost from your life because you did not fully understand the atonement; what it is and what it can do for us?

In order to change things, first we must have faith in Christ, then we must ask forgiveness and we must remember that “not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42).

The Atonement of Christ can take away not only the pain of our sins but also the pain of things that happen to us over which we have no control. “And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people”. (Alma 7:11).

The Book of Mormon prophet Enos tells us of how he had received a remission for his sins. “And my soul hungered; and I kneeled down before my Maker, and I cried unto him in mighty prayer and supplication for mine own soul; and all the day long did I cry unto him; yea, and when the night came I did still raise my voice high that it reached the heavens. And there came a voice unto me saying: Enos, thy sins are forgiven thee, and thou shalt be blessed”. When Enos heard this he asked “Lord, how is it done?” The Lord answered “Because of thy faith in Christ”. (Enos 1:4)

How long must we hang onto the shame, the hatred, and the guilt, before we finally decide that it is time to free ourselves from the bondage of sin?

When we finally do submit to the will of the Lord and experience that joy of forgiveness, we can be as father Lehi when he tasted of the fruit of the tree of life and “beheld that it was most sweet, above all that I ever before tasted”. (1 Nephi 8:11).


“and surely there could not be a happier people among all the people who had been created by the hand of God”. (4 Nephi 1:16)

Roller Derby

You never know what you will see when you go to the movies. Our last movie, “Winter’s Bone”, was one of those times when the unexpected happened. We were at the Tacoma Grand Cinema, an independent film theatre, when just before the featured film we were treated to a guest appearance of the Wave of Mutilation roller derby team. Five female roller derby skaters came charging down the center aisle. They were a rolling advertisement for Roller Derby All-Star Bout to be held at Pierce College on July 24th; this coming Saturday.

Roller Derby; now there was something I had not seen before, except on television those many years ago, and this sounds like something I would like to attend. You know, broaden my entertainment horizons. Well, I know that Sharon won’t attend; all that blood and gore you know; perhaps Mike and Sabine? I gave them a call and they were interested but they had something else going on that night and were not sure they could make it. That left only one other person; me. So only me it was to be.

The program started at 6 pm. At 5:45 I was still busily working out in the yard. I stopped my weeding project, ran into the house and hosed myself off, doused myself with Johnson’s baby powder and headed out for the rink

I had no idea where the Pierce College was so I entered the address into my Garmin GPS system and was on my way. “Turn right in 400 feet”, “Bear left at next intersection”, “Proceed 2.4 miles and turn left”. On and on she went, for twenty miles. I hope she knows where she’s going because none of this looked familiar to me. But right on; after half-an-hour it was “Turn left at intersection and arrive at destination”.

I had arrived 20 minutes late and the men’s bout had already begun. I paid my $15 entrance fee and proceeded into a small gymnasium. A flat track had been set up on the gym floor with bleacher seating on both sides. As I entered into the gym there was a team of girls in their black uniforms cheering a team on and waiting for their turn to skate. The men were dueling it out right now, and the women would have their turn during the second half. The gym held two or three hundred people and the place was fairly full. I found myself a seat right behind the girls in the black outfits. They were the home team and called themselves The Wave of Mutilation.

As I sat down I glanced over to my left at one of the girl team members named Twiggie Smalls; nose ring, tattoos, black short-shorts, with black nylon mesh stockings. The girl sitting next to her looked over at me and smiled. I smiled back, but I couldn’t keep from gawking at her black eye. She had a shiner the size of an apple. As I looked around at the other team members, it looked as if tattoos, bruises and black eyes, with nose and lip rings, were all a part of the uniform. At least they all had all of their teeth.

I settled in and tried to make some sort of sense of the game. My first impressions were of a bunch of uncoordinated, gangling guys trying to make one complete lap around the track without falling down. They would clump up into a disorganized pack, hang on to each other for support and then try to make their way around the track, all the while bumping into each other and either falling down or jumping over someone else who had already fallen down. The announcer was calling out the moves and players, but it was so loud and distorted that I couldn’t make out much of what he was saying.

I turned to my program to see if it could help me to understand the game. I was in luck; right under the heading Derby Rules was everything I would need to know about roller derby racing. It was fairly simple really; each team consisted of two pivots, or girls who set the pace of the “pack”; three blockers who help their teams “jammer” in making it through the pack, or to block the opposing team’s “jammer” from making it through the pack. The “jammer” was the point scorer of the team. Each time they passed an opposing team member, they received one point.

The game was going good until all of the sudden the action came to a screeching halt. It seems as though Little Timmy had thrown a wheel and everyone had to stop to help pick up all the spare parts. The men’s teams consisted of the yellow jerseys, or Team Hollywood, contending against the blue jerseys, or Team Radillac.

Once the game started up again, yellow jammer Radillac, came flying around the rink heading right towards the back of the pack. The blue blockers were getting themselves into position while the yellow blockers were trying to open up a route for Radillac. Then in one move so fast I could barely see it, Raidllac pushed himself away from one blocker and actually leapt over the other. What a move! He was through the pack in an instant for an easy five points.

It wasn’t long before I could follow some of the strategies and techniques of the game. Each time a jammer would fly through the ranks, accumulating points as he went, I was jumping up and cheering right along with the rest of the crowd. This is a game of intense action and subtle strategies, such as giving a body block to an opposing blocker and sending him skidding down the track. It’s not unusual for a pivot, a blocker, or for that matter a even jammer to go sprawling across the track and bounce off the foam retaining wall, only to leap to his feet and jump right back into the melee. One such occasion, blocker G. No-Evil, jammer Maximus Overdrive, the referee Grim Streeper, went down in a tangle of knees, elbows and other body parts.

One well placed body block sends blue jammer, Hollywood, flying over the sixteen inch high foam barrier wall and coursing out of control down the hall. Once his composure is regained, he turns around, leaps over the heads of wild eyed spectators and the sixteen inch foam retaining wall, and is back in the rink overtaking the pack and scoring a quick five points.

In retaliation, with a heroic assist by yellow blocker Radilac, yellow jammer L-Nightlong squeaks past the pack for an easy five points.

In a final burst of glory blue jammer Sin Deisel, assisted by blocker Dr. Coldfinger, made a brilliant five point gain trying to pull ahead of the yellow team Radillac, but in the final moment the whistle blew and the game was over with a score of 134 – yellow to 127 – blue.

After the game I noticed one of the players named Security walking off the rink and congratulated him on a game well played. He looked at me, pointed to his security badge and stun gun and just walked away. How was I to know?

Half time gave the audience a chance to mingle with the players. Me, I opted to go to the concession stand and get a soft drink, a bag of popcorn and some cheese nachos. I think if I had waited longer I may have gone for a tattoo also.

The second half was for the ladies. Wearing the black jerseys was home team The Wave of Mutilation, with team captains Snickerbrutal and Rocky Hardplace . The visiting team from Bellingham, wearing green jerseys, was The Saints of Slaughter, with team captain Asonya Face and team coach Phil the Pain.

This looked like a match that would be worth watching. The girls were of smaller stature and seemed to be more in control of the group and of their bodies. After a couple of introductory laps, the two teams grouped together for the starting lap. The two jammers, black Dakota D. Stroya, and green Asonya Face were about ten feet behind the pack at the starting gun. As the pack took off around the track, Dakota D. Stroya and Asonya Face started off in hot pursuit. Unfortunately it wasn’t even a quarter lap before they both tripped over each other and went sprawling off into the barrier. Up they sprang and were back on track. Weaving through the pack, pushing and shoving, the girls were well on their way to some serious point making. All of the sudden, black blocker T’erin Traxx fell on her face and was down for the count. The game was stopped as she just lay there. I could detect an occasional moan with just a slight hint of whimpering. She laid there for two minutes as the coaches whispered words of encouragement. Finally she was up on one knee, then she struggled up to her skates and they rolled her off of the track. I watched her for a while as they checked her over for broken bones, concussion, or bruised ego. As she was sitting on the sidelines the announcer blared over the sound system “Any crash you can roll away from is a good crash”.

While this certainly is a contact sport, there are rules. The program lists the Derby Rules as: “It’s true: blockers and jammers are supposed to hit each other. But because most people like their teeth and bones intact, there are some rules to how it can be done. A “legal” block is done when a blocker hits with her shoulders and hips. So…no hands, no fists, no elbows, no feet, or other such foolery.”

The game continues and it wasn’t long before T’erin Trax was right back in the thick of it. Both teams are now racing around the track jockeying for position when for no apparent reason black blocker 16 Tons manages to fall in a heap all by herself. She jumps up and gets back on to her skates, catches up with the pack, and with just one well placed hip block sends two of the Saints of Slaughter and one referee sliding off track into the foam barrier.

There is a nice 8’ X 10’ scoreboard mounted at one end of the gymnasium. But just in case the crowd doesn’t want their eyes to leave the action of the pack, there is a Score Helper, a scantily clad girl who skates around the rink holding up a small 2’ X 3’ scorecard with the current score lightly sketched in pencil.

It was on one of these score keeper laps with Rusty O’Tulle displaying the score, when black jammer Snickerbrutal was trying to make her way through the pack and came upon an impenetrable wall formed by blockers Slamburger Patty and Betty Drillder. This distraction gave green jammer Leannderthal an open highway as she rolled through the pack to score an easy five points.

Well, as much fun as I was having, I think that last helping of cheese nachos I had was getting the best of me, not to mention the stifling heat of the gymnasium and the blaring noise from the PA system. So I reluctantly picked up my remaining empty containers of food and headed out of the gymnasium to the car park.

The air was cool, there was a wonderful silence with just a hint of the crowds roar, and coming up in the west was a big full yellow moon. For just $15 it was good entertainment. Would I go again? I think that I would, but not anytime soon. It will take me at least a week for my stomach to settle down and for my ears to get back to a state where they can hear again.

Angels Landing

Up early ( 10:30) and ready to explore Zion Canyon. After the sampling the resort’s breakfast of Biscuits ‘n Gravy, we were ready to tackle another of the many trails in Zion Canyon. We weren’t sure which trail to take, so we turned to the Zion National Park Map and Guide. They have eighteen hikes listed in their Hiking Guide divided into Easy, Moderate, and Strenuous. What the heck, this will be our last day in the park, so we went for the Strenuous. The Guide had a picture of some hikers walking along a trail while hanging onto a support chain which had been installed along a section of the trail. This would be the hike.
The trail started off following along the Virgin River for about 1/3 mile. Then it doubled back and started heading up the mountain; 100 yards forward with a 15 foot elevation gain, then zigzag back and up for another hundred yards. The trail followed this pattern with the straight stretches reducing from 100 yards, to 50 yards, 100 feet, 25 feet, and near the top the trail went only 10 feet forward with a 10 foot elevation gain before switching back again. Now that’s climbing!

With Julianna leading the way I finally managed to make it to the first plateau, huffing and puffing like The Little Engine That Could. Every so often Juliana would look back and ask “Are you OK grandpa”; “Is your heart OK grandpa”; “Would you like to rest grandpa”? Give me a break! I won’t be seventy ‘till next month.

As we were hiking, we had encountered many groups of college students, fresh from graduation exercises from the nearby colleges of BYU, Snow and others. As we zigzagged up the trail, some of the other groups ahead of us had already reached the first plateau or landing. It was now their duty as the younger generation to let out all their cat calls; Hellooooo, Yodel-e-hi-hoo, Marco--Polo, all the standard calls, and of course the final clarion call of R-i-c-o-l-a!

Julianna and I continued right on up to the next level. After about fifty feet, the trail narrowed considerably, from about two feet wide, down to one foot and then down to eight inches. Suddenly the trail seemed to disappear altogether and was replaced by a chain attached to the side of the cliff. With widths of five inches, then only two inches, the trail continued on. As I proceeded on, my hand became frozen to the chain. I inched along the trail with of strides of 6 to 7 inches in length, counting each link as I went, rather than look down the other side of the two inch trail to a sheer cliff which I am sure went straight down to a depth of at least seven miles. I was going so slow that Julianna had long since left me in the dust, and she was not even hanging on to the chain. Occasionally I would run into a person on their way back down; faces drained of any sign of life, eyes glued into the side of the mountain, and their knuckles white from griping on to the chain. Was this to be my fate? What had I done to myself? After inching along the final section of chain, I was greeted by the calm and reassuring eyes of Juliana. “OK grandpa; let’s go on to the next section”. And to think that this is my own grandchild! There were fifteen people or so resting on the landing, some on the return trip, some contemplating whether they should continue on or just jump over the edge and end it all right now. Wimps!
I really can’t tell you much about the rest of the trail. My final traverse was done strictly on automatic pilot. I grabbed onto the chain so tight that I am sure I left indents in it from my fingers. My eyes were tightly closed and I no longer stepped, I just shuffled. Slide one foot forward two inches, bring up the other foot until they touched; step, slide, step, slide. After what seemed like an eternity I finally reached the final resting place, not mine, but that of the trail; or so I thought. After I pried my cramped hands from the length of chain and opened my eyes, I could see that there was still yet another section of trail to cover. This section was almost straight up. I could see others braver than myself fighting back tears as they slowly descended down the trail, hanging on to the section of chain as if it were the very umbilical cord which brought them into this totally unfair life.
And then Julianna showed her true colors. “You can wait here while I go up the rest of the way if you want grandpa”. What a lovely child. “You go ahead” I said, “I think I will rest here for a while”. Oh sure, as soon as you’re gone I will get my sorry … off of this mountain!
I rested for a while, talking with some others who had finished the climb; and others, older and wiser like myself, who were just waiting for the rest of their party to return from the top. After a slight rest, and mustering every last ounce of courage I had, I began to retrace my steps back along the chain linked sections of trail down to the previous level. I gained some comfort in the fact that there were two rangers following me down the chain traverse. Whether they just happened along or whether they thought that I looked like a leaper, I don't know; don't much care either.
Finally I reached the last of the lifeline chain section of the trail and could now sit back with the comfort of knowing that I was still alive and that I just had to wait for Julianna's return. I sat down and talked with some other hikers about the final ascent, but it wasn’t long before Julianna returned, full of exuberance and telling me of the great hike and the spectacular views.

At last we were on our way down, and it wasn’t long before we reached the secure switchback portion of the trail. I looked back over my shoulder at that old serpent of a trail; good riddance I thought. As I looked back I could see an older lady half way down the chain trail from the top. She had made it to the top, but by the way she was shaking and just inching along, I knew that she wasn’t enjoying it. Just look at her tremble. Such tiny baby steps she was taking, and she still has two chain lengths of trail to go. Well, she isn’t going to make it. She will probably fall past us on the way down, screaming and kicking for every bit of the 1500 foot drop to the bottom.

Well, that’s all behind us now. I know I could have made it up that last section of trail, but I didn’t want to slow everyone else down. Now Julianna, she is something else; that girl is truly amazing.

Since I managed to leave my camera behind in the RV, I have borrowed pictures from others about the trail; then there is one awesome youtube video shot by two adventurous young men which you do not want to miss.

  

Youtube video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C8ygjEUFI1E&feature=related

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Zion National Park


After the wonderful experience of dinning at Parry Lodge, we continued on our journey to Zion National Park. The approach to the park is nothing out of the ordinary; green rolling hills, fields of buffalo, and verdant hills of cottonwood and oak. Once you enter the park all that changes; colorful sandstone mountains shaped by eons of erosion caused by the Virgin River which flows through the canyon present awesome vistas at every turn.

A short distance from the entrance is the historic Zion-Mt Carmel Tunnel carved into the side of the mountain. Having been built in the 1920’s the tunnel dimensions do not allow the larger RV’s used by today’s traveler to travel in one lane through the tunnel. Traffic on one end of the tunnel must be stopped while the larger vehicles, namely us, pass through while driving down the middle of the tunnel road. This is nice, as it gives us more time to enjoy the tunnel. The feelings of grandeur while driving down the middle of the road and holding up all that travel behind me often makes me break out in song of “Hail to the Chief”.

Periodically in the sides of the tunnel length, windows have been cut in the rock providing a quick view of the canyon below.

We drove through the canyon for a quick survey of what we would like to do after we set up camp for the night. We pulled into the Zion River Resort for the night’s stay. It was a beautiful facility, and we managed to get a spot right by the river.

After we set up camp, Julianna and I wanted to go on a short introductory hike. Watchman Trail was the hike of choice; a moderate hike of three miles which took us up a trail with a view of the Towers, the Virgin River, lower Zion Canyon, and the nearby town of Springdale. Nothing to write home about, but it was a good introduction to the canyon.

After we returned from the hike, we ate dinner, investigated the campground and retired for the evening.

2010 – AZ -WA – Julianna




May has come and with it comes the warmer weather. Right now the weather here at our home in MountainBrook, Gold Canyon, AZ is just about perfect; the nights are cool and the days are sunny and warm. None the less, we must be heading back to our summer retreat in Gig Harbor, WA. It seems as though our son will be getting married over the Memorial Day weekend, and of course we want to be there for the wedding.

Our granddaughter Julianna, who just graduated from Washington State University, has flown down to AZ and will now be accompanying us back to WA with us in our 5th wheel RV. We have taken our grandkids on many of our RV trips, but for the most part it has been Juliana who has been our traveling companion. Now that she is graduated and starting out her own life and career, I think that this trip may be our last chance we will have to travel with her. She will be moving on. Julianna is a free spirit, and the maker of her own destiny.

When we arrive at one of our mid-day stops or find an RV site for the night, I never have to ask “Want to go explore”? It is more often something like “Hey, wait for me”. We’ve been rafting down rivers together; climbing mountains; flying down the roller coaster ride on Magic Mountain in Disney Land, as well taking a ride in the Dumbo Tea Cup. We have been on a cruise to China and a train ride up the Oregon coast. We’ve spent the night watching meteor showers, then searching out the moons of Jupiter and the Orion Nebula through the mighty Hyde Observatory telescope. And of course there were the things where I had to take the initiative and say “Let’s go”! Ah yes, those were the operas and the symphonies; enjoyed, but really something that does not need to be repeated.

And so our next adventure begins. The plan was to leave our summer home in MountainBrook and travel north through Arizona to Lake Powell and the Glen Canyon Dam. We arrived at about 4:30 pm at the Wahweap Campground at Lake Powell and set up the 5th wheel trailer. When we finished we headed down to the office to register our campsite for the night and get tickets for a tour boat ride on the lake to the Rainbow Bridge the following day. We were successful with the evening reservations, but the tour boat ride was all sold out for the following day. Bummer! As a consolation prize, I suggested we take a drive down to the Horseshoe Bend overlook on the Colorado River. Located on Hwy 89 about five miles south of Page, Horseshoe Bend is a magnificent overlook which gives breathtaking view of a horseshoe shaped bend in the Colorado River. It only took us about twenty minutes to get there. There is a well maintained trail of about ¾ miles to the canyon overlook which gives you a 1000 foot view, straight down, to the Colorado River. The river makes a wide sweep around a sandstone escarpment forming a horseshoe shaped bend, hence the name. The park brochure suggests instead of walking out to the edge (which has no guardrail) that you crawl out to the edge on hands and knees, lay down prone on your stomach and peer over the edge, down, down, down, 1000 feet straight down to a beautiful horseshoe shaped bend in the Colorado River.

After that exciting little jaunt it was time to get back to the RV and have dinner. When we arrived back at the campsite we turned on the lights and started the stove. I noticed that some of the lights did not work, and when I tried to start the gas hot water heater it did not work either. Bummer! I had had the trailer in just the week before to get a short in the tail lights fixed and I now suspect that he screwed up some of the other lights. There were only two or three lights that worked, no hot water, and we all smelled like some of the road kill we had passed along the way. Oh this was going to be a great vacation alright; A VACATION FROM HELL that is!

I spent the rest of the night testing the lights and trying to find the master fuse, which I suspect is buried deep in the bowels of the RV. Well, that would have to wait until tomorrow. I was tired from all the driving and disappointed that we would not be seeing the Rainbow Bridge, so we fumbled around in the dark and finally slipped off into the safe imaginations of our dreams.

The next morning I was up at dawn, took the dogs out for their walk, and was now ready to tackle the electrical problem by a thorough inspection of the innards of the beast. I started taking out tool boxes, boots, packs, and whatever else I had to remove from the undercarriage of the RV to get at the master fuse. I removed a box with a 24 foot sewer hose support in it; next was a 24 can box of Coke, when all of the sudden Julianna yells out “We have lights”! “We have lights”, how so I asked? I peered at the wall next to the cargo door in the underside of the rig noticed that the two push-pull power-off switches had been pushed to the off position; probably when the box of Coke had been thrown up against the switches during one of my smooth accelerated starts. I had pulled out one of the switches during my inspection, which allowed the lights to go on, and now, pulling out both switches I proudly announced that once again, Master Mechanic Hyde had solved the problem.

After being made whole again, we traveled on to our nest destination, Zion National Park. On the way we passed through the small town of Kanab, Utah. Our good friends the Sterling’s live in Kanab, but we knew they would not be at home.

Being overcome by a minor case of the hungries we stopped in the town for lunch at Parry Lodge. Parry Lodge was the center point for moviemaking during the golden age of Hollywood. Many a fine actor has holed up at Parry Lodge to sleep, eat and to socialize during the shooting of a movie. Such notables as John Wayne, Frank Sinatra, Olivia De Havilland, Gregory Peck, Maureen O'Hara, Tyrone Power, Linda Darnell, Robert Taylor, Anne Bancroft, Dean Martin, Lana Turner, Clint Eastwood and Barbara Stanwyck are just a few of the hundreds of stars and character players that stayed at Parry's while filming in the many scenic locales in and around Kanab, Utah.

I was not only in shock and awe at the possibility of sitting in the same chair that John Wayne may have sat in, but the grilled shrimp lunch was great also.

Soda Pops

When you go out searching the world for exotic places and unusual finds, don’t forget to look in your own backyard. While you are out searching the globe for hidden treasures there is someone else from a far off land coming to a town near you just to see your local sights.

I found such a place in Miami, AZ. Miami was one of the copper mining boom towns; that of course was when copper was king. But as of late, according to the 2008 statistics, 23.6% of Miami residents had an income below the poverty level. Walking through the town on a weekday it appeared as if everybody had boarded up their place of business and gone home. The weekend brings a slightly more favorable outlook, but it still looks as if 50% of the businesses are boarded up; with the exception of Guyao’s Elrey Café, which was packed with customers on the Saturday that we were there.

The one gem in the town that I did find was Soda Pops Antique Store. Their business card says “Best Antique Store…Anywhere”! and I believe them. Our introduction to the store was by chance encounter; it looked interesting, it was open, and so we entered in and checked it out. As soon as I entered the store I fell in love with it. Hanging on the wall just up behind the cashier’s counter was a five foot replica of Mickey Mouse and Goofy with a six foot Coca-Cola bottle. The main theme of the store seemed to be Coca-Cola memorabilia, but there was no shortage of other grand articles of nostalgia. We spent more than an hour just looking and talking; we spent more time talking with owner Marcia Hughes than we did looking around the store.

They got their start in the business while on a vacation and owner Ron Hughes spotted an old Coco-Cola chest rusting away in a field. It had been used as target practice, but Ron could see that it had potential. They took it home and with a little TLC, OK a lot of TLC, some body putty and a few coats of paint, it looked brand new. After that they were always on the lookout for some unusual antique that they could restore and put in their shop. Ron’s wife Marcia told us of the time they were out treasure hunting when they found an old Merry-Go-Round airplane. They only had their car with them, and it was already full of new found treasures, so they tied the airplane to the roof of the car. Imagine the looks they got as they motored down the road with this miniature airplane tied to the roof and the propeller spinning as if it were ready for takeoff.

Once again, all it takes is a little restoration; some paint and the junkyard airplane will be ready to transport some young Red Baron off to fight in an imaginary WW1 dog-fight with the number one enemy Fighter Ace.

One of my favorite antiques in the store was a child’s barber chair. It was in the window display and I could only get a shot of it from outside the store looking in. It was a small barber’s chair that the child could sit in while his legs straddled the front quarter of a horse. It transformed an ordinary haircut into the fantasy world of Tom Mix or The Lone Ranger. How cool is that; instead of Just getting a haircut, you could be getting scalped! The horses head was even covered with real horse hair. “Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him…”.

Gas pumps? They have gas pumps galore. They even had one that dated back to the early 1900’s. It would dispense gasoline by the quart. Today that would not even get you back home.

Right in the middle of the store was Laurel and Hardy, tucked into their roadster and ready to motor off to another one of their crazy destinations. In my childhood there was many a day I would go to the movies and follow right along with them on their wacky adventures.

My favorite picture didn’t turn out. It was the first picture I took in the place. There I was, the picture framed in my mind, while with trembling hands I raised the camera to my eye and snapped the picture which would launch my career right up there with the likes of Ansell Adams. Alas, I neglected the first rule of good photography, always use a tripod, or at least keep a steady hand. Oh well I can always go back and take another picture; which for sure I am going to do.

Then and Now

In 1947 my Grandpa Noall wrote a book about his life titled "To My Children". In the book he tells of some of the missionary experiences he had while serving a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, the Mormons, in the Sandwich Islands, Hawaii. He tells of getting an assignment which would take him to the Kohala Conference on the Island of Hawaii. It was 1886 and he and his missionary companion, Elder Farr traveled by steamer from Oahu to the island of Hawaii.

“Elder Farr was to be my companion. After a short journey from Oahu by steamboat, we landed at Honokaa on Hawaii. Our course was to lead us down the coast as far as the city of Hilo. Since we had no special headquarters in this conference, our procedure was to walk to a branch of the Church on Monday, and spend the week visiting, teaching and proselyting there. Some good family, usually that of the branch president, would furnish housing and meals for the two of us, and transportation – a mule or a horse or both.


When we reached the city of Hilo we were in the last city of our conference. We found it a beautiful place with a harbor that could have rivaled that of Honolulu. It had a population of about 10,000 people. Its annual rainfall was about 144 inches, as compared with about 29 inches for Salt Lake City. The verdure was superb. The fern fronds grew more than twelve feet long, and here, in the wilds around the city, we found the coffee plant growing vigorously.


While walking along the road we stopped to examine an ancient lava flow which had ceased but ten miles short of the city, and then, the natives said, only because of the sacrifice of many pigs and chickens, which had been thrown into the lava stream in order to appease the anger of the volcano god.


Before retracing our steps from Hilo, Elder Farr and I decided to visit the volcano Kilauea, which was twenty-eight miles farther along the road. But now we had only one mule between us, and only fifty cents apiece in our pockets. We therefore decided to employ the “walk and tie” method of traveling. One of us would ride approximately six miles, tie up the mule, and travel on afoot. The other, catching up with the mule, would take his turn at riding.


We traveled over some rather new lava fields which looked like great fields of plowed ground, had the plot used to dig these furrows been fifty times the size of a regular dirt plow. We also saw evidence of the gradual disintegration of lava fields through the crackings and sloughing of the rock. This allowed ferns and other forms of plant life to thrust tiny roots into the myriad crevices. The decaying of this life, mixing itself with the decayed rock, would gradually form soil. We could not help being impressed by the visible process of nature’s changes in the earth’s surface.


Reaching the “Volcano Tavern,” we, being ministers of the gospel, appealed to the proprietor to supply us with lodgings, food and a guide, which he graciously did. Early the next morning the guide took us over the floor of Kilauea. The pit of the crater was nine miles in circumference and 1,000 feet deep. The floor was the color of black lava and was comparatively level, but it was cracked as a great mud puddle cracks when it dries in the heat of the sun. In Kilauea’s pit the cracks, running hither and thither, were about an inch open at the top and six or seven inches deep. They were fiery red at the bottom. A wooden walking stick, thrust into this red crevice, would burst immediately into flame.


We traveled northeast across the pit to a hole about fifty feet across and one hundred feet deep. It was called Halemaumau – or the House of the Gods. Peering into it we could see the black lava floor of the pit, and we could hear the thump, thump of the molten lava boiling up against the dark floor below us. At times the boiling mass would burst through its air-cooled crust, and then it would rise in this hole until it filled the pit. Sometimes it even ran slightly over. Then a tourist, being present, could thrust his cane into the stiffening mass and drawing it to one side could press a coin into the lava which he could then chip off and keep as a souvenir. Needless to say, even had Halemaumau boiled over when we were present, Elder Farr and I would not have tried this game. We kept lifting our feet as we stood by the pit to keep our shoes from burning. Kilauea is, perhaps, the only active volcano in the world so docile and accommodating as to allow an intimate study of its crater”.



For the “Now” portion of this post, read my post of "Day 8, Sunday April 18, 2010" on this blog. Needless to say we had the convenience of traveling in a KIA automobile, which seats five plus luggage, rented from National Car Rental; we did the entire trip around the island in only half-a-day, and obviously we were not allowed past the viewing rail of the Kilauea crater which was probably one-quarter mile from the edge of the crater.

In the early ‘80s we owned a home in Kalapana Gardens, Hawaii. In the mid ‘80s the Kilauea volcano started to erupt and the lava began to flow down the mountain slopes toward our development. The local Hawaiians made sacrifices to appease Madam Pele, the volcano goddess, by throwing a bottle of gin and a bough of juniper berries into the lava flow. Being Mormon and not drinking alcoholic beverages, our home was taken by Madam Pele on December 20, 1986.

Aloha

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