Occupation of Independence

My dog and I haven't done a hike in a long time, which is a real shame, considering all the advantages it has. What prompted me to take action this morning was the temperature: it was the first day of autumn chill. Hiking has always been more enjoyable to me in chilly weather. And it worked again. We started in the cool shade and suddenly emerged into warm sun. What a delicious contrast that is!  Soon we came out of the ponderosas and onto a grassy ridgeline, where we had a view of the entire valley around Council, ID.  Although I could have mountain biked this trail, it was actually more fun to walk it.  Getting too chilly for comfort is what I need to get out of the Drudgery Mode that seems to go along with hiking. Nobody forces you to be dreary -- but it seems to be an integral part of the image of hiking. When somebody says the word "hiking" I first think of a donkey, with its back bent into a concave U by a heavy load, plodding along a dusty trail in the hot sun, whi

Council, ID.  Now reading "Sharpe's Eagle," by Bernard Cornwell. Not so far away from my trailer, two black cows started up with some angry bellowing. Except they weren't vacas ; they were toros. Actually it has been many years since I have encountered real bulls, and not just the nambie-pambie specimens that you see nowadays.  My dog will sometimes chase cows when she is off-leash, but she made no move toward the bulls. The bulls were on opposite sides of a barbed wire fence. One would push his big head across the fence and push at the other bull. They would paw angrily at the ground and kick dirt on each other.  One of the bulls must have been young: he was more demonstrative, and would flop around in the dust.  The bellowing was quite noticeable. A little scary. I actually closed my door, although the bull on my side of the barbed wire fence had little interest in me. That little bit of caution reminded me of something: ahh yes, I was just an 8 year old boy, ridin

 Council, ID. Now reading "Sharpe's Rifles," by Bernard Cornwell.   Notch by notch I have crept towards "overlander" status, although real four wheel drive (4WD) enthusiasts would laugh at this. Most people know of somebody who has become a complete fool about how ruff-n-tuff their 4WD machine is. There must be many a wife whose patience is tested by a husband who has become ridiculous over this. The lucky wives stay good-natured while rolling their eyes and shrugging over "boys and their toys." So why should a wise old man like me head down this direction at all? I like the challenge of improving my rig's backroads capabilities without getting drunk on the topic. There is an element of practicality, especially when the camper has any wet roads to deal with. Young yahoos will squander unconscionable sums of money on 4WD. But those who belong to the brutally-utilitarian school -- that is, the 'brutalitarians' -- get their fun by resisting th

New Meadows, ID. These leaves would not make a good postcard, but they stopped me dead in my tracks the other day, on a mountain bike ride.   It is what they imply: autumn. They are the seasonal mirror images of crocuses in the spring, which a poet once called "the advance reports of an army, marching from the south." There are other indicators of incipient change: I have seen a couple squirrels dragging large pine cones off to their winter stash. The squirrel was struggling with the bulk and weight of the pine cone. How authentic Nature becomes when we see wildlife earning an honest living, and not just sitting around looking cute-sie for the tourists. Early indicators like this caused sweaty palms and heart palpitations in this old RVer, probably because I hate summer. But to experience a thrill after all those years -- I must be doing something right.