On the Feet of Eagles

I was walking in Dry Canyon the other day when the movement of a large animal in the brush beside me caused me to start.  I thought it was deer because it was about that size, but it turned out to be a golden eagle.  The eagle had been on a deer carcass next to the trail, and as I walked past, it took off and flew ahead of me up the canyon.  It landed down low on a shrub, watched me for a moment, and then came back down the canyon, flying so close that I could almost have touched it.  It was a huge bird, with at least six feet of wing and talons fully eight inches from front to back.

I didn't see the eagle again that afternoon, but I went back the next day to see how much deer meat it had consumed over night.  The eagle wasn't visible, but its footprints were obvious in the snow.  On at least two occasions, it had walked a considerable distance from the deer carcass up into the rocks along the side of the canyon.  Along with the footprints were wing prints.  With every step or two, the eagle would flap its wings to help with propulsion, leaving the feather prints there in the snow, too.

I followed both tracks until they ended, looking for clues about why an eagle would walk in the snow.  I mean, if you had wings like that, wouldn't you use them?  The first track ended atop a three foot boulder not far from the trail.  The second continued on and on up the side of the canyon over snow slick boulders.  (It may not have been difficult walking for an eagle, but I fell several times.  Fortunately, Rural Ways has a hard A.)  When I got to the top of the track, there was nothing.  I had been expecting to find a piece of the deer that the eagle had dragged to a more favorable dining location.  The carcass was surrounded by coyote tracks and I figured that the eagle had tired of bickering with a canine after every bite.

But there was nothing.  There were no deer parts, there was no blood or gore, there was no evidence of an eagle picnic.  The track just stopped.  It was like the maker of the track had grown wings and flown away.  And, indeed, it had.  But why?  Why walk to the top of the canyon before take-off?  Was the eagle's belly so full of carrion that it needed a launch pad?

Exclusive Preview

Every so often Rural Ways publishes a sneak preview of an unfinished piece from Valerie's easel.  These exclusive showings are available only to readers of Rural Ways—both of them—and are not available to the average art collector.  The pictured work is from a scene captured at sunrise on the Green River near Mineral Bottom.  The 24x30 painting is a stunner, and I expect there will be a bidding war for it when it is finished.  So, figure out what you can afford, and get ready for the auction.  I doubt you'll have to pay more than five figures.

Vermillion Castle Campground

In the mid-1930s, the Dixie National Forest managed a campground on Bowery Creek about five miles from Parowan.  It was called the Vermillion Castle Campground after the name Adalinda Thorton had given the area in 1887.  The campground is still there, but today it is called the Five Mile Picnic Area—no camping allowed.  In any case, campground facilities were constructed in the mid-1930s by a CCC (or similar) crew.  Many of those facilities are still in relatively good shape.  The picture, above, was made by (I think) Forest Supervisor Betenson of the Dixie in 1937 (about 75 years ago), and it shows a picnic shelter constructed in 1936.  The image is the property of the Forest Service, but has been scanned and archived by the Sherratt Library at SUU.  The image, below, was made by Rural Ways, yesterday, and it shows the same picnic shelter.

You can see from the older picture that there was a fair amount of oak around the structure in 1937.  You can see from the newer picture that there is a lot more of it today.  There is also considerably more juniper, a good bit of additional mountain mahogany, a few pinyon trees, and some sumac.  In short, the area is much more densely vegetated today than it was 75 years ago.  This is, of course, not news to those who have studied the ecology of western forests over the past 150 years.  It is likely that the vegetation in this canyon was impacted by wildfire on a somewhat frequent basis prior to European settlement circa 1860.  The wildfires were probably not of high intensity, but they maintained a relatively open forest.  It is my guess, however, that there have been no fires in this canyon for at least 75 years, and maybe not for 150 years.  As a result, the forest is no longer open, but is packed so densely with vegetation that you can no longer see through it in most places.  This vegetation will, of course, burn again—there is no way to permanently exclude fire.  And, as much as I hate to say it, I suspect that this picnic shelter will not survive the next blaze.  I just hope everyone from Parowan does.

The Return of Winter

It is 19F degrees this morning and there is snow on the ground.  This is the first time we have had complete snow coverage at The Homestead since well before Christmas.  It has been pretty consistently 50F and sunny for four to five weeks.  It might have been enjoyable if it weren't so strange.  Fortunately, things are feeling a little more normal this morning.  The 48 hour forecast is for more blustery winds and up to three more inches of snow by Tuesday.  In addition, Alta is reporting a 24 hour snow-fall total of 22 inches.  That is more like it.

Where-To-Go Service

Do you ever see one of those magazines—usually they are outdoor recreation or healthy living magazines—that have a monthly feature article about the best place to go do this or go do that?  You'll see Outside magazine on the rack and it will have a blazing headline that says, "Top Ten Wilderness Areas to Visit this Year."  What is that all about?  I recognize that these magazines, despite their "green" editorial line, are simply celebrations of consumption, but do they really mean it?  Can you actually write an article like that?  Presumably, the reason that something is a "top" wilderness is because it has strong wilderness characteristics.  But, can it have strong wilderness characteristics if you have just encouraged your millions of disciples to consume it?

This kind of foolishness is not, evidently, new.  Aldo Leopold wrote about it 50 or 60 years ago.  This is what he had to say:  "Knowledge of the whereabouts of good hunting or fishing is a very personal form of property.  It is like rod, dog, or gun:  a thing to be loaned or given as a personal courtesy.  But to hawk it in the marketplace of the sports column as an aid to circulation seems to me another matter.  [T]hese organized promiscuities tend to depersonalize one of the essentially personal elements in outdoor sports.  I do not know where the line lies between legitimate and illegitimate practice; I am convinced, though, that 'where-to-go' service has broken all bounds of reason."

In my opinion, the only reasonable thing to do with these where-to-go services is to take careful note of them.  I, in fact, use every one of them as a means of developing my "never-go" list.  If a particular park or natural attraction in southern Utah appears on a top ten list in, say, Sunset magazine, I add it to my list of places that I will NEVER go. And, perhaps, the writers of these columns have figured that out:  If you actually like a place, don't put it in the list, because the thing you like about it will be destroyed.  If you are, on the other hand, entirely sick of the Zion National Zoo, put it on your list.  It has already been wrecked, so you might as well continue to funnel the hip-hop gangsters, the hippies, and the euros through its gates.

That is what I would do anyway.  So, if you ever see one of those lists from me, you can rest assured that I am naming places on my never-go list.  If you have, on the other hand, any interest in a quiet canyon where you might be able to sit and listen to the sound of a wren, come and ask me.  I might, as a personal courtesy, loan it to you.

Family Olympiad

The weather in southern Utah this month has been spectacular.  Day after day it has been 45 to 55 F with clear, blue skies and bright sunshine.  It would be great if I weren't worried about the snow-pack.  I'm sure the alpine skiing is terrible, and it's not much better in the back-country.  But, just for something to do, I went up to our ski meadow along Center Creek and put in a couple of tracks.  The snow is thin and sugary in the shade, thin and hard in the sun, and generally not very forgiving.  In any case, I put in a cross-country track and a downhill track.  Then, I invited Valerie up for a race.

We went up today and made two laps each in both events.  V was first on the leader-board with a cross-country time of 4:04.  I'd skied it yesterday in about that same time, so I figured we'd be close.  Well.  The snow was a little faster today (either that, or I rose to the competition).  I made it around the track in 3:06.  V stepped up to meet the challenge, hoping to knock me out of the top spot.  Unfortunately, she went out too fast and crashed on the first corner.  She posted another 4:04, (so it makes me wonder what she could have done without the crash).  I had the gold medal wrapped up as long as I wasn't DQed, so I skied without any pressure.  My second lap clocked at 2:57.  Wow.  I'd broken the 3 minute mile and set a new course record.  The crowd was going wild.

It was on to the downhill competition.  For the first lap, we both clocked 15 seconds.  Can you have an Olympic tie?  For my second lap, I adopted a technique that Valerie had been using—a couple of strong pole pushes on the flat right before the finish line—and cut a second off my time.  I scored a 14.  She, for whatever reason, was one second slower on her second lap, and came in at 16 seconds.  It was close, but I'd earned my second gold medal of the day.  Fortunately, Valerie didn't seem bitter about my big winning streak.  In fact, she mentioned that she might drive up to the track herself when I'm busy.  Oh-Oh, it sounds like she might be about to start practicing.

Paranoia

Every other day, if not every day, Rural Ways can be found wandering around in the hills.  Whether it is an hour scrambling in the Parowan Valley foothills, or a full day in San Juan County with the girls, I like to be out looking around.  On Friday, for example, I went part way up the Vermillion Castle Trail where I found the mountain mahogany tree featured in the POW.  Unfortunately, those innocent activities have put me into constant contact with law enforcement personnel.  Since my post regarding a near-arrest at Maverick, I have been stopped three times in the backcountry—twice by the Utah DNR and once by a federal LEO.  I have been starting to feel paranoid.  There is no probable cause, and I am simply walking around on public land.  I told Tiger the other day, who spends plenty of time wandering the hills himself, that I can only conclude that they must think I 'm a poacher.

Sure enough.  The little local newspaper came out the other day, and it featured this story:  DWR Launches Massive Poacher Patrol Effort.  Bingo.  So that is what is going on.  Law enforcement is "carrying out the largest winter range patrols ever conducted in the state."  Evidently a couple of hundred deer are poached in Utah each winter, costing the state $242,800 in lost revenue, and the Division of Wildlife Resources has had enough.  (I'm all for enforcing the laws, but everyone knows that there are too many deer in the state and that a patrol officer costs probably $80,000 or $100,000 per year in salary, benefits, and truck, so is it really worth it?)  Because law enforcement is "saturating" the same areas where I like to go, we are, I guess, destined to spend a lot of time together this winter.  They could, however, save some effort by putting a note in my file (since they all have access to my record via their on-board computer) saying:  This slack-jawed, half-wit is just walking around with his camera.  Don't waste your time.

Monthly Energy Costs

The numbers for December have come in, and we've compiled Rural Way's monthly energy data for 2011.  There is some good news and some bad news.  First, the good news.  In contrast to the past two years, we were not stunned by our December energy costs.  For 2011, December energy costs were just under $120; in 2009 they were nearly $203.  We also managed to eliminate most of the August spike which was such a problem last year (about $90 in 2011 instead of $118 in 2010).  The bad news is that our average monthly energy spending has not budged very much over the years.  For 2009, the average was $109/month; for 2010, the average was $109/month; for 2011, the average was about $104/month.  I guess we saved about $60 last year when compared to 2009 and 2010.  On the other hand, we invested approximately $1,000 in four small (10,000 btu) natural gas space heaters during 2011.  They are much more efficient than electric heaters, but, by my calculations, our monthly energy cost savings will take 17 years to pay for the new heaters.

Of course, one of the benefits of the capital investment is a much higher comfort level.  Before the small gas heaters arrived, morning kitchen temperatures during the winter would generally be in the high 30s and low 40s.  Now they are at least 10 degrees warmer right off the bat.  In addition, we now have heat in both the office and the studio, which is new.  So, we have added winter comfort to an additional 300 square feet of indoor space.  Probably a better way to calculate this would be to figure out our costs per square foot of area heated.  We'd see a much bigger savings that way.  One other piece of interesting news is that Questar, our natural gas provider, puts out data comparing the gas consumption rates around the neighborhood.  For December 2011, the average consumption of our nearest 100 neighbors was 9.6 decatherms.  We used 4 decatherms.  As regards our carbon footprint, I guess we've earned the right to feel smug and self-righteous.  Regrettably, instead of being righteous at Rural Ways we're just cheap.  I'd rather have the $120 back.

Up Yet?

Last year, on January 1, the temperature at The Homestead was minus seven, today it is nineteen, . . . above.  What a difference a year can make.  Aside from the air temperature, the thing that can most affect one's comfort in southern Utah is the sun.  If the sky is not cloudy, and it rarely is, the sun will have a very strong warming effect.  To have such an effect, however, the sun must be above the horizon, and this is where I have detected a flaw in the construction of The Homestead:

Looking due east from The Homestead (at approximately 75 degrees if you are following along on your compass), there is a low spot in the horizon line that surrounds the property.  From this low spot, if you follow the horizon towards the south, it rises steadily until it reaches a high point along the ridge at a place called Valentine Peak.  Valentine Peak is southeast of The Homestead (at approximately 125 degrees on the compass).

In the northern hemisphere, the sun will rise out of the east on the day of the summer solstice; for the winter solstice the sun will rise out of the southeast.  The astute reader can now—doubtless—predict the, ahem, direction this post is headed.  With the position of The Homestead, the sun has the greatest horizon to surmount on the morning of the shortest day of the year, and the shallowest horizon on the morning of the longest day.  It is exactly the opposite of what would be comfortable and efficient from a heating and cooling standpoint.

Let me explain how it works in practice.  On or about June 21, Rural Ways will be working very diligently in the yard at 6a.  The temperatures will be warm and the sweat will be starting to flow, but all the work must be done by 6:30a because that is when the sun will rise (from the low spot in the horizon).  From that moment, the day is shot.  I mean, no one can work under the "death rays."  On or about December 21, on the other hand, Rural Ways will be sitting by the wood stove at 8:30a.  The outdoor temperatures will often be in the single digits and everything will be frozen—the ground, the truck, the work boots.  It will be hard to get anything done until 9a because that is when the sun will rise (above the high spot on the horizon).  From that moment, the day is useful.  The temperature will generally shoot up 30 degrees—making for very nice working weather.

It is too late for The Homestead, but let this serve as a warning to you.  When you are looking at property to buy, ask to view it before sunrise (and bring along your compass).  You may determine that your dream home is actually poorly situated vis-a-vis the horizon line, and that there is actually a better location for the family farm.