Everybody is Doing It

I was on my way out to this little bristlecone forest on the Markagunt.  I came around a corner in the road and found a half-ton Dodge in the ditch.  There was a middle-aged woman, a teen-aged girl, and two idiot dogs.  I stopped and got out.  The woman was on her knees at the front passenger wheel digging in the mud with her bare hands.  The girl was at the back wheel doing the same.  They had, of course, no shovel.  They were both covered in mud from head to toe.  By way of explanation, the woman said that her 4-wheel-drive had gone out and she'd not had time to fix it.

The real explanation was that the road was dry and the ditch did not appear to be particularly wet or soft.  She had put the passenger side along the edge of the road thinking that it was relatively firm and the truck had dropped into a hole up to the running board—it was, in fact, resting on the running board.  Honestly, anybody could have done it.  For all the dumb things I've seen (and done) in the woods, this was not the worst of them.  (Now driving around on the mountain without a shovel, that is another story.)

I suggested that if I hooked up to the front of the Dodge and just gave a little boost, she might be able to drive it out of the hole.  She agreed.  So, I got the Chev into 4-wheel, turned it around, backed up, and dropped my tow strap over her bumper.  She asked me what I wanted her to do.  I told her to get in, put it in gear, and try to ease it forward as she felt the pull of the Chev.  She replied that her Dodge had a standard transmission and that she wasn't sure she'd do a very good job.  I told her to just very gently ease the clutch out and give it a little gas—like you're starting out slowly on a hill.  The last thing I told her before I got in the Chev was, "Don't run me over."

In the event, she did a beautiful job.  As I steadily increased the pressure, and before my tires slipped in the gravel, she gently slipped the clutch and crawled slowly back onto the road.  No gunning it, no wheels spinning, no gravel flying.  Very nice.  Much better than most people, who think that you have to step on the gas to get out of the ditch and end up making things worse.  When she was high and dry, I backed up six-inches, pulled my tow strap, and wished her luck.  She offered to pay me, but I told her that I'd recently been stuck for two hours with six people helping me—nobody owes me anything.

Memorial Day

Happy Memorial Day from the Little Salt Lake.

Rainy Days

I went out to wander around on the Parowan Front yesterday afternoon.  I got stopped by this thunderstorm.  I sat in the truck and waited for it to quit, but it wouldn't.  In fact, it rained all night.  May 2015 is turning into one of the coolest and wettest I can remember.  Southern Utah is as damp and lush as Seattle.  The other picture, below, I made at work this week.  I told a friend that some might think I was working in the Cascade Range instead of the Tushars.

More Stuck

VSO and I were headed up Center Creek when we came across this Dodge.  There was no one around, so we supposed that the driver was off looking for help—though we saw no one walking along the road either.  This truck is more stuck than I normally get, but the reasons for it are less easy to explain.  For some reason, on a decent road, on a nice day, this person simply drove into the ditch.  Maybe they were trying to send a text?  In any case, on the way down, several hours later, the truck was out of the ditch and parked at some house along the highway.

The Gold Master

I know, when you think of somebody using a metal detector, the first picture that comes to mind is of some flinty-eyed old miser scrabbling around in the dust looking for dropped quarters at the county fair.  And, hey, I, for one, am not above scrabbling for quarters.  But the treasure hunt I had this week was far less remunerative:  I was looking for nails.

Next week we plan to have a contractor remove spruce beetle infested and killed trees from one of our semi-developed recreation sites.  The problem with rec sites is that all the trees have nails.  I mean, how are you going to hang your laundry, your lantern, and your dish towel without a nail?  Unfortunately, nails and chainsaw chains don't mix.  Want to ruin your chain at 8AM?  Cut a nail on the first cut.

Despite being somewhat miserly, I am not a very expert metal detector operator, so I make no guarantees, but my efforts should at least alert the sawyer to the most hazardous cutting locations.  One other point I'd like to make is that the metal detector available to me was not designed to find nails, but gold.  Nuggets.  This metal detector is a gold nugget finder:  The Gold Master.  Maybe next week I should try it.  At $1200 per ounce, just one gold nugget would be worth a truck load of quarters.

Calling Mr. Munch

I was out hiking around today when I found this root wad.  If this was not designed by Edvard Munch, he's been ripped off.  He should be able to sue for copyright infringement.

First Quarter

 

In December of 2014 I was spending a lot of time in the back country.  Mostly hiking and scrambling.  The weather was warm and dry.  Plus, I had some time off.  By the end of the month, I'd accumulated 78 miles and a sore knee.  I spent a week in rehab and then set a limit of two miles per day.  Now that April is over, it is time for a look at how I am doing in 2015.  Good.  On average, I am nowhere near my limit.  I've accumulated 172 miles in the course of 120 days, for a 1.4 mile per day average.  My knees feel OK.

Stuck Again

This week I was crawling along in low gear on a pretty rough road when I came to a slow motion stop.  I was in four-wheel drive, so I put the truck in reverse.  I could feel the back wheels slip in the gravel, but no luck.  I turned it off and got out.  Perfect aim:  I'd gone over the biggest rock in the road with the lowest part of my frame.  I was, technically, high centered.  My back wheels were on the ground, but they didn't have the traction to pull the front of the truck off the rock.  I reached into the front seat for the camera and had a little laugh at myself; then I wedged a big flat slab of rock under the back side of the suspended tire.  When I put it in reverse this time, the tire crawled up my slab and lifted the frame clear.  I swerved around the rock and went on down the road.