Whiskey Papa in Oz

I made two trips to Australia, the first in 1977, four years after Sally and I married. I was stationed at NAS Lemoore and had pretty much decided that I would leave the Navy at the end of my enlistment in February '78. We left Dallas in the care of Scotty and Angela, stopped over in Hawaii (I already told you about that), then headed Down Under at 1 a.m. on my 29th birthday. It was a very short birthday; within an hour or two we had crossed the international dateline and today became tomorrow.

We landed for fuel in Auckland, New Zealand, which was a weird experience. We flew in low over emerald green hills scattering large herds of sheep on our approach to the airport. A beautiful sight and an excellent first impression of New Zealand. When the NZ passengers disembarked, the weirdness began. No welcome to New Zealand for us - we were just passing through. Instead, we sat there while they fumigated the plane. When the cloud dissipated, we were herded into a holding pen (okay, a waiting room) with benches and scattered chairs for those who weren't tired of sitting after a dozen hours on the plane. On the walls between each of the many windows were trout, mounted on plaques with notations on each fish's size and where it was taken. When the refueling was finally complete, we were herded back onto the plane and left to contemplate the error of our ways. Maybe next time we'd come to New Zealand and fish (or perhaps chase sheep) rather than just pass through. . .


We landed in Sydney and took the train to Sally's home in Wellington for Christmas with her family. We returned to Sydney with Rick and Gillian, then rented a car and drove: to Canberra, Australia's capital; through the Blue Mountains, where I heard about "the Man from Snowy River"; and on through the amazing countryside to Geelong, near the southern coast southwest of Melbourne. In spite of the damp, mostly gray weather, the sandstone (or perhaps limestone) cliffs, the arches and caves, and the crashing waves were marvelous.


This second shot, of "the Twelve apostles", is in the Bay of Martyrs. Don't bother counting them; I assumed the others were around the corner out of sight. Amy told me on her recent visit that most, if not all, of these pinnacles have since come crashing down, the victims of errosion. Reviewing pictures of the bay on the Internet, I believe the arch in the first picture has also crumbled.


The weather finally started to clear the next day as we passed through Melbourne to make our way up the East Coast. But first, we took a side trip to Phillip Island, southeast of Melbourne, where I saw this koala. I must say, koalas have enjoyed great PR. Up close, their fur is much more course and less cuddly than you might imagine. The way he clutched the branch of his gum tree was not so much "cute" as it was "sad". I couldn't escape the image of a derelict, surprised on awakening to find himself 20 feet up in a tree, wondering how he had gotten there.

We finished that trip with a long, beautiful drive up the coast highway to Sydney. We spent several days there with Sally's Aunt Joan, seeing the sights before flying back to California. We skipped New Zealand on the return trip, thank God, and refueled in Hawaii.


This picture was taken on my second visit to Oz. It is a view looking east from Mount Arthur across Sally's hometown of Wellington. At the time, Sally and the kids had been there for six months and I came over on vacation for a month. This time, we spent several days in town and I met many of the family's friends and acquaintances. Then we drove up to Casino, near the Queensland border, and dropped Sally's mother off to visit with her sister.

The four of us continued on to the Gold Coast, Brisbane, and followed the A1 north through Maryborough, Bundaberg, Mackay, and Townsville to Cairnes. We took day trips along the way to Fraser Island, the largest sand island in the world, a cruise out to the Whitsunday Islands, and another to Green Island and the Great Barrier Reef. We visited Port Douglas and took a terrific tour of the lower Daintree rainforest, looking for saltwater crocodiles. We came back to Casino via Carnarvon National Park, Toowoomba, Warwick, and Killarney, and took Gillian (with food poisoning) to the doctor in Lismore, visited Byron Bay, picked up Betty, then made our way back to Wellington.


Since Gillian was still recovering, I said my goodbyes in Wellington and took the train back to Sydney. I stayed a few more days with Aunt Joan, taking the ferry or the hydrofoil into the city each day from Manly. I revisited several places Sally and I had seen my first visit, and added a few more before flying back to Fort Worth. The picture above is, of course, the Sydney Harbor Bridge, taken from the southwest corner in a beautiful area called "the Rocks". It was a great trip. . . but Sally got the pictures.

Summer. . . by request

One day I was watching Gillian playing with dolls and collecting pill bugs; I turned around and found myself watching her take riding lesson. I turned around again and she and her mother had bought a horse, a thoroughbred with the unlikely name of Flew-By-Y. First of all, that name would never do. Gillian and the rest of us called the animal "Summer". I must admit, I was not originally a fan of the idea of a horse in the family, but Gillian and Sally insisted they would take care of her. They did, indeed, and I found myself more and more often down at the barn with Gillian, with nothing more to do than watch her feed and groom the horses, muck out Summer's stall and, of course, ride. On occasion, I remembered to bring my camera.

Summer had run three races early in her life, apparently showing little enough promise as a racehorse that she was sold to Sally and Gillian as a saddle horse. But let me tell you, the first time you see your little girl flying across the paddock on the back of one of these great beasts, you amend your concept of "fast". Gillian, of course, loved it; I tended to cross my fingers, hold my breath, and hope for the best.


We first stabled Summer with four other horses about a quarter-mile away at a small farm owned by a retired Lockheed engineer. It was very convenient and the price was right. The two pictures above were taken there, the first in 1998 after we'd had her for six or eight months, the second in about 2000.


In 2002, after I traded in my Sony Mavica for a Canon G2, they moved Summer to a larger, well tended farm 4 or 5 miles away in Macland. It wasn't as convenient, but it was a great place to take pictures. These last three shots were taken at the farm in Macland.


This is one of my favorites - of Gillian and Summer. I took it a week or so after I got the G2 and fell in love with the higher resolution and better optics. The ring Gillian's riding in had a very fine dry sand surface that Summer seemed to like. When she'd trot or canter she raised a small cloud of dust. When she walked she sometimes seemed to drag her hooves through the sand. . . 'cause it felt good?


Like most of us, Summer looked better some days than others. I thought she looked especially good this day - and she didn't mind posing for me. Summer moved one more time, back to Gillian's neighborhood about a mile away from her house. It was somewhat more convenient, but Gillian was getting more involved with other things so, exercising and caring for summer became more of a chore. Eventually they sold summer to an acquaintance of Sally's up towards Ellijay.

Yancey County

One Sunday morning, back in the dark ages, we left Asheville to play golf - in Black Mountain if memory serves - Tony, his dad, his granddad, and me. We went by way of Mars Hill, where we stopped to deliver something to someone on the way to the golf course. Looking at it from this end of my life (with the aid of Google Maps), Mars Hill doesn't seem to be "on the way" to Black Mountain, but my sense of geography in the Asheville area has always been suspect.

In any case, while Tony's dad took the package up to the house, the rest of us stayed in the car discussing my observation that the cows in the area must know some special trick to be able to graze on the steep mountainsides. Tony's grandfather, in a statement typical of him, chuckled and said, "Yeah, up here in these mountains they hang the fields from the clouds and plow both sides."

*****

My good friend Joe has a little house on a mountainside in Yancey County like that. He doesn't have to plow either side, or worry about cows falling off the pasture, but he can sit in a rocking chair on his front porch and stare straight ahead across the river at the steepest wall of hardwood forest you can imagine. The mist clings to the mountains until midmorning when it vanishes, leaving the Carolina blue sky.


Next to the cottage in the clearing on the mountainside in Yancey County there is a nondescript. . . spring house, I guess you'd call it. Being up at Joe's to simply relax for the weekend, visit, and look around for things take pictures of, I guess I was primed to appreciate any nuance of beauty in the surroundings. I shot the mountains and the mist in the early morning light and wandered around the property taking pictures of the flowers still wet with dew. And I shot the spring house, above, clinging to the side of Joe's mountain.


I love my Canon camera with it's stabilized telephoto lens. The telephoto let me take the picture of the river, down the hill and across the road, from a rocking chair on Joe's front porch. The stabilized lens allowed me to slow the shutter speed enough to record the movement of the water like I wanted without having to resort to a tripod. I like the twin contrasts of the shade versus sunlight and the stability of the rocks versus the motion of the river.


We took Joe's dog, Ramsey, for a walk early one afternoon so Joe could show me the landmark above. It's a natural Appalachian "bald" called "The Beauty Spot"; with an elevation of 4419 feet, it provides clear views in nearly every direction. As far as I can tell, the meadow straddles both the North Carolina/Tennessee border and the Appalachian Trail.


I took this picture on the short walk from where we left the car to The Beauty Spot. What interested me at the time was the cow stile in the split rail fence. The near section of the fence simply stops at a vertical end post. The far section of the fence splits 3 or 4 feet away from the end post, with a V-shaped extension reaching past the vertical post on both sides. This allows bipeds, like Joe and I, to pass through the fence with a single change of direction. Ramsey, too, though a quadruped, could pass easily through but the stile design would foil the wanderlust of any cow (or similarly shaped domestic animal).

When I reviewed my photographs that evening, the composition and lighting, the isolation and dryness of the landscape suggested to me an Andrew Wyeth painting. I love it.

Vacation - How about Hawaii?

In late 1977 Sally and I arranged a trip to Australia, stopping over in Honolulu for two or three days. We stayed at the Hale Koa on Waikiki Beach. The Hale Koa is an Armed Forces Recreation Center - read "military-only resort hotel" - across the street from Fort Derussey. I can tell you it was, and probably is, quite the treat for a soldier or sailor on R&R. On the return trip we had a three hour layover and didn't leave the airport. I've never been back.


The Hale Koa was the second in a string of hotels on Waikiki running west to east towards Diamond Head. From our section of beach most of Diamond Head was blocked by the other hotels so, to get the recognizable shape, I could either walk half a mile down the beach or go next door to the Rainbow Hilton and take the picture from their dock. Choosing the latter, I was able to include more beach in the picture.


There was a very pleasant shopping village somewhere within walking distance of the hotel, though I can't find it on Google maps now; lots of boutiques and souvenir shops. In one of them I became fascinated with a cork carving in a glass case, just the thing for your mantelpiece if you had several hundred dollars to spend. Sailors I knew couldn't afford something like that, but that didn't keep me from taking a picture of it.


These three shots were taken one after another one evening as the sun set. There's nothing really special about them - they're just like 1000 postcards - but at the time I took them I thought, "I can't believe it's so beautiful. Not a cloud. The color's perfect." After all these years I still think,"I'm glad I was there and got a chance to see that."


We rented a car for a couple of days - spent one morning at Pearl Harbor and drove all around the island. We saw the porpoises and whales at Sea Life Park, the hula dancers at the Polynesian Village, and the Dole pineapple fields in the interior. We even enjoyed the light 20 minute rain showers that cleaned the air each afternoon.


There's a lot of beautiful things to see on Oahu and even more on the other islands, I understand. I find, however, that I'm ambivalent about Hawaii - and have been since that first visit.

You can sit on the beach in front of your hotel and marvel at how great everything is. You can stand in awe of the waves on the north coast and be repeatedly startled by a blowhole in the rocks over towards Kaneohe. But you have to be dismayed at the poverty apparent in the shacks and unkempt yards that seem scattered across all the spaces in between. It's as though everything here is a façade; all the great stuff might not even be real.

Short in the groove

Do you remember the old days when you wondered whether or not you had film in the camera; what kind was it; did you have enough of it? Then, did you have the cash to buy film at Eckerd's; did you have the time - or the opportunity? This next bunch of pictures was taken with whatever film I had on hand. The first and last pictures were taken with a Nikon I considered buying. I suspect that's why it had black and white film. The others were taken with my Minolta, the second and third picture on infrared film I had carried in my camera bag since I was on Adak in 1970. I just figured it was time to shoot it and see what it did.


Having launched all those airplanes in the last post, I thought I'd better recover some in this one. The Phantom about touch down is "short in the groove" and you can see the next Phantom a mile or so in trail. I'm always surprised when I look at these pictures and remember how much smoke a Phantom left behind. Today's turbofan engines are virtually smokeless; not so the Phantom's J-79s. In a typical recovery we landed the Phantoms and Crusaders first because of their fuel states. They'd be followed by the A-7s, the A-6s, then whoever else was out there. Last aboard was always the Angel, which spent the recovery milling about smartly in a Delta pattern a mile or two aft and starboard of the ship and the landing aircraft. There was usually a plane guard destroyer a couple of miles aft of the carrier during flight ops that could assist with search and rescue duties if a plane went in the water or someone from the flight deck went overboard.


A carrier group is composed of the carrier and several support ships of various kinds. The lovely ship above was USS Luce (DLG-7), a guided missile frigate, and part of the carrier's ASW (antisubmarine warfare) screen. At any given time there might be a cruiser, an oiler, a supply ship, or almost anything else steaming with us within the screen. The Luce, like the Roosevelt, has since been "turned into razor blades" - scrapped. One of my adventures in Athens involved my waking up aboard Luce early one morning, and having to figure out where I was, how I had gotten there, where "there" was, and how to get back to Athens and my own ship - before muster at 0800. But that's another story. . .


Well, we've been at sea now for a while and it's time for a resupply operation, in this case referred to as a "vertrep" or vertical replenishment. That obviously refers to the fact that we're using helicopters to deliver some or all of the supplies. If helicopters were not used, the operation would be an "unrep" or underway replenishment. If it was a combination of the two, it would be referred to as a vertrep. The helo above is from one of the support ships. Where the ship's name usually appears, on the landing gear sponson, this bird has "Rapid Transit Auth."

As far as I can tell, the infrared film simply filtered out all the red from the light and perhaps blurred the horizon somewhat if it happens to register temperatures. I only had the one roll of film, so I don't need to worry about that anymore.


This vertrep shot may or may not have been taken the same day as the previous picture. This CH-46 Sea Knight helicopter, one of several involved in the vertrep, is from USS Sylvania (AFS-2). The ship steaming next to us, transferring stores via high lines as well as the helicopters, is USS Arcturus (AF-52). On the horizon to the right of the helo is an oiler, probably USS Caloosahatche (AO-98). When Arcturus is finished, she'll break away and Caloosahatche will slide into position, probably with a destroyer on her starboard side, and start transferring fuel oil to both ships. Much of the time while this is going on, the ship's band is playing music for the edification of our support ships. Usually they stick to John Philip Sousa and other marches or, if they're transferring personnel by highline and bosun's chair as portrayed in "The Bridges of Toko-ri", they'll play something like "The Magnificent Man on the Flying Trapeze".


In all the pictures I've shown so far, the weather has been terrific and the seas fair. This wasn't always the case. Shortly before I came aboard Roosevelt in 1972, she ran into some notably heavy weather in the Bay of Biscay, off the west coast of France. Returning to the States on my final cruise we encountered several days of rain, wind, and very heavy seas. The picture above is a poor "restoration" of one of several slides I took from Pri-Fly but it gives an idea of the heavy seas, if not the rain and wind. The flight deck, after all, is about 65 ft above the water line. It should be interesting to note the Phantoms on the port and starboard catapults with the JBDs (jet blast deflectors) raised behind them. Believe it or not, they are in "alert status" - in spite of the storm - because a Russian Bear-D had passed Iceland southbound. It was a "game" we played with the Russians all during the Cold War; they'd try to overfly our carriers with their bombers and we'd launch fighters to intercept and divert the bombers, the implication being that we'd splash their Bear if they pushed the routine confrontation too far.

Meanwhile, back to the storm: Before it was all over we lost several communications antennae and many feet of deck edge catwalks ripped off on both sides of the bow. We had chest-high salt water flooding in the ship's store and the catapult control room on the O-2 level, and cracks in the hull in Secondary Conn through which you could see the horizon. At some point Rosey turned south to launch one of the Angels into the storm to find the rescue and salvage ship USS Edenton (ATS-1) . The helo would successfully medevac one of their seamen with an appendicitis back to Roosevelt.

With the appendicitis on board we resumed our westerly course and on 11 March 1974, at the height of our trial, a panel of the forward hangar bay door (14 tons or so) was lifted out of its track by a wave. It "walked" inboard some distance into the hangar bay, smashing parked planes together as it went. By the time I saw it, damage control teams had welded it in place (to the overhead) using I-beams and angle iron, leaving the wrecked airplanes where they were. Three sailors, who had been checking tiedown chains on the airplanes in the hanger bay, had been seriously injured by airplanes mashed by the wandering hangar bay door. All three were treated in the ship's dispensary but ADRC Robert W. Rhodes of VAW-121, following several hours of surgery, died at sea of his injuries.


Not much to say about this handsome devil. The picture was taken by the guy who was trying to sell me the Nikon. The picture was okay but I declined the deal on the camera. I later loaned him $350, unaware that anyone transferring at the end of a cruise probably had his orders in hand by the time we tied up in Mayport. As you might have expected, he beat me out of the money. I didn't pursue it and considered it a lesson learned. "Neither a borrower nor a lender be. . ." said Polonius.

As cruisebook editor, when we arrived in port, I was sent to TAD to the publisher in Norfolk to finish up the book. When I returned to the ship I was sent to NATTC Glynco for AC"B" School, then on to dryer - though no less interesting - duty at NAS Lemoore.

Stand by to launch aircraft. . .

Well, back aboard the USS Franklin D. Roosevelt (CVA-42). It's the last day of a two-week in-port period, and a very fine in-port period it was. . .

The liberty boat's headed for Faliron Delta to pick up the last of the shore patrol teams. The shore patrol officer and the last few members of the in-port period's advance party (who coordinate with the host government agencies ashore) will fly back to the ship on the helo. Sometime after dark we'll weigh anchor and steam through the night to our operating area in the eastern Med.


One last look. The Acropolis rises from the center of Athens and the ruins of the Parthenon overlook the surrounding city. This is to be our last visit to Athens for this cruise, though the schedule could change at any time for any number of reasons. If the schedule holds, I'll probably never be back. My tour aboard ship will be up shortly after we arrive stateside. But I'll remember Athens. I described it to someone once after my first hot, dusty, summer visit as "El Paso with a beach". But I also felt that the people in Greece were by far the friendliest in the Med. Oh! And the best pizza I ever had was from a shop about 5 miles down the coast in Glyfada.


This is a view of the aft flight deck from a catwalk near the entrance to Pri-Fly, the lair of the Air Boss. Primary is on the aft end of the island about four levels above the flight deck. The island is on the starboard side amidships. The planes you see along the port deck edge are six F-4B Phantoms, from the VF-41 Black Aces and VF-84 Jolly Rogers, and four A-6A Intruders, from the VA-176 Thunderbolts. The two A-7E Corsair IIs taxiing forward are from the VA-15 Valions. Ignoring the two remaining A-7 tails, the two planes in the foreground are a visiting A-3 Skywarrior (commonly referred to as the whale) from VAQ-135 and another Intruder.

I should mention the missing players. Besides the squadrons represented in the pictures, we had a second squadron of A-7s, the VA-87 Golden Warriors; a detachment of RF-8 Crusaders from VFP-63, the Eyes of the Fleet; a det of E-1 Tracers from the VAW-121 Griffins; and a det of SH-3 Sea Kings from the HC-2 Fleet Angels. Besides the squadrons and detachments of embarked Air Wing Six, Roosevelt was manned by her Ship's Company, which included my unit, CATCC-42.


The aft flight deck was clobbered with parked and taxiing aircraft because, on the business end - the bow - the launch was in progress. Above is a VA-15 Corsair and below is a VA-176 Intruder, each of them launched in turn from the port steam catapult. This was early in the launch, as more Corsairs can be seen behind the antenna, still parked on the starboard cat.




This last shot shows one of the Angels maneuvering off the port bow during a lull in the action (between the last launch and the next recovery). Recoveries during daylight were typically handled under visual flight rules. After dark or in bad weather, CATCC (Carrier Air Traffic Control Center) got involved and brought the planes home using radar. During a cycle - between the launch and recovery - the aircraft were worked by CIC (Combat Information Center), an airborne platform (an E-1 or an AWACS), or a designated shore-based control center.

The 2002 Battlefield Tour

It was April 2002 and I needed a road trip. I wanted to go up to Virginia to see Paul and Lee and I thought that this time I'd forgo my trip to the Air & Space Museum and visit Harpers Ferry instead. En route, I visited my friends Pat & Ginger and Joe. After a few days in North Carolina I'd seen Duke University in Durham and the beach community of Hampstead, on the intercoastal waterway. But poor planning seldom takes long to show up. I had my new Canon G2, but only a 64 MB compact flash card. Worse, I had neglected to bring the cable I needed to dump pictures to my laptop. That was certainly going to crimp my style! I ended up cutting back on the number and size of the pictures I took. So, the visiting - in NC, then later in VA - was fine but my picture taking was stuck on "max conserve".

My storage dilemma really hurt at Harpers Ferry. I ended up with a few uninspiring snapshots of the armory and the railway bridge but, having recently read my owner's manual, I decided I would try to stitch three pictures together and see if I can get a panoramic shot worth saving. This picture, taken on the south side of town (in WV), shows the view looking east, downriver. The confluence of the Potomac and the Shenandoah is in the center of the picture. The upper Potomac passes between the railway abutment and Maryland Heights on the left. The Shenandoah River flows up from Virginia on the right. I think the panorama turned out very well.


Maybe I'd have better luck up the road at Antietam. Another panorama, this view from the visitor's center takes in everything from the Cornfield on the left to the Sunken Road on the right. If I'd added one more frame to the left, I could've included the restored Dunker Church as well.


The real treasure of the Antietam battlefield is the Burnside Bridge. At perhaps no other site is it so easy to see exactly how things turned out and why. General Burnside's 12,000 Federal troops were repulsed in successive attempts to take the bridge by 450 Georgians on the bluffs overlooking the bridge, delaying the Union advance from nine o'clock in the morning till about one in the afternoon when they finally carried the bridge with the help of artillery. The view above is from the bluff held by the Confederates, looking down at the attackers; the view below is from the Union side, looking up at the defensive positions.

I actually considered going up to Gettysburg, but then thought better of it when I looked at my watch. Over the next couple of days I wandered around Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, and the Wilderness but, in the end, once the troops have left the field it takes someone like Shelby Foote or Ken Burns to bring it back to life.


One other treat on this trip was meeting cousin Rachel. We first met online in the 90s, chasing family ghosts, and soon found my gggg grandmother, Sarah Hawkins West was the sister of Rachel's gg grandfather, Joseph Carter Hawkins, making Rachel and I fourth cousins, twice removed. Born in west Texas, she was living in the Shenandoah Valley at the time, which made it an easy choice to meet her in person on the way back to Georgia. The picture below shows our meeting at a sandwich shop alongside I-81.

Yosemite and the Sierra Nevada

I was stationed at NAS Lemoore, California from June 1974 till I left the Navy for good in February 1978. It was a great tour. There always seemed to be something to do on your days off - like a road trip to San Francisco or San Diego or a drive to Sequoia or Kings Canyon National Parks - a day playing in the river, swimming and sliding down the granite chute at Hospital Rock, is probably as much fun as anyone could rightfully expect to have so close to home. The longer we stayed at Lemoore, the more entertainment options seemed to open up for us. I took flying lessons and we'd fly up to Oroville in the Sierra foothills and wander around in the old gold camps. Then we'd fly west, intercepting the coast just above the Redwood National Park, turn south and fly down the coast, a mile or so offshore, past the Golden Gate and San Francisco and land for lunch at the airport at Monterey. After lunch we'd hop back in the plane and continue down the coast to Pismo Beach or even Santa Barbara before turning away from the Pacific, back across the coastal range to the San Joaquin Valley and Lemoore.

For a little bit longer drive than the short trip to Sequoia, we'd take Hwy 41 up past Fresno and Merced and head for Yosemite National Park. As soon as we left the valley floor, the character of the road changed from straight arrow to exceptionally circuitous as the maze threaded its way farther into the Sierra Nevada. The changes alongside the road as we gained altitude were subtle. After the orange and lemon groves the low hills were studded with oak and, before long, you found yourself marveling at the size of the sugar pines to the right and left. The pictures above and below were taken on the west side of the Sierras approaching Yosemite from the south. As beautiful as the views were, nothing quite prepared you for the panorama that awaits at the east end of the Wawona Tunnel. Indeed, the first time we drove up, the tunnel itself was a surprise. No one back at the base had ever mentioned entering the valley through a tunnel.






Okay, get ready. . .






I have to believe that some farsighted soul with the National Park Service found this view of the Yosemite Valley - which is absolutely perfect, in case you hadn't noticed - and said to himself, then his boss, then his boss's boss, "We can't blindfold people, lead them into the valley and spring this view on them. We need to put them on an approach road that keeps them entertained - and distracted - then lead them into the valley through a tunnel, and knock them out with the VIEW." El Capitan dominates the left side of the valley, Cathedral Rocks and Bridal Veil Falls are to the right, leaving Half Dome perfectly framed.


Lucky for us, the Park Service salesman had his way and the Wawona Tunnel became an alternate entrance to the Yosemite Valley. I'm sure the shock and awe of this entrance caused its share of trouble. You simply don't want to take your eyes off the view to watch the road. So, now we come out of the tunnel and immediately encounter a large overlook with parking sufficient to allow us to recoup our composure. Both of these pictures of the valley were taken from the overlook while I recovered.


This last photograph, which appears to have nothing in common with the previous ones, is a view looking east from the Tioga Pass Road, Yosemite's back door. I believe that the large lake just below the horizon is Mono Lake. On my last trip to California, in the spring of 2008, I had intended to drive north through Death Valley and cross the Sierra Nevada through Tioga Pass. My friend Scotty, who I would visit in Hanford, warned me that he didn't think the Tioga Pass Road was open and clear of snow till sometime in June. Checking the California DOT website confirmed that the road had not yet opened for the year. That was all right - I wandered about Death Valley for a few more hours and crossed the Sierras around Lake Isabel.

On Working at Home

Sitting here at my desk in my Austin apartment, I have a pleasant view of the north end of the pool with a few lounges, and a couple of tables and chairs with beach umbrellas, guarded by a 4 foot wrought iron fence. Since the pool's in a courtyard, the background is another apartment building similar to mine. Between my window and the pool fence is a shady, 10 yard stretch of mostly sand and dirt, with scattered patches of ground cover. The shade is provided by several oak trees. In season, through much of the weekend and occasionally during the week, the pool area is well used and not particularly noisy. The intervening space, including the oak trees, is almost as well used - in season or out - by the local squirrel population and a few mockingbirds whose sole purpose in life, apparently, is to devil the squirrels.

I guess that will have to do for a view, but I have to admit that I really miss the view I had from my desk in Kennesaw. There, I sat right next to the window and could see at least half of my patio, a 10 foot wide strip of (usually unkempt) lawn, at the base of a 10 foot high bank covered mostly with pine needles and dead leaves. The pine needles and dead leaves were the accumulated debris of the woods that extend from the top of the bank, past the property line, and nearly to John Ward Rd.

When the turkeys came they usually ignored me at my desk but, if they caught sight of me reaching for my camera, they'd scramble away till they could no longer see me. In the case of the picture above, they stopped 10 feet away to strut in front of the sliding glass door of the next room. That allowed me to get my camera, slowly rotate the vertical blinds open and get several shots of this pair not 5 feet away. Their own reflections were much more interesting to them than any small movement they might have noticed within the house. I know; not up to my usual standard - the relatively poor cropping of the picture was because I was shooting through the vertical blinds.


There were few days that I didn't see at least one or two of the big birds, but it was hard to predict where they would show up. This one had been sneaking around at the top of the bank and was already leaving the area when I spotted him. I stood up right at my desk and shot this picture through the window. Another day I was looking out the kitchen window as three toms marched between the houses towards the deeper woods behind the neighbor's house. They looked like a pretty well behaved bunch to me, but apparently not to the large screech owl that hit Tail-End Charlie square on the back like a bolt from the blue. The hit staggered the turkey and was loud enough for me to hear it through the closed kitchen window, but it was not repeated and all three turkeys beat a hasty retreat.


This hen was in charge of about a dozen and a half chicks, six of which you can see across the bottom of this picture. I know little about turkeys except what I observed in Kennesaw, but I suspect one or two hens babysit all the chicks in an extended family. I've never seen a hen with just one or two chicks, always a dozen or more. They were always interesting to watch - adults, adolescents, or chicks - and I almost always grabbed for my camera when they came 'round.


This cardinal settled into the ground cover at one end of the bank where he could observe the strip of lawn which was often a bit soggy after a rain and, I suppose, a great place to find a meal of worms. The cardinal is a beautiful bird and probably the state bird of about half the states on the East Coast. As much as I love Texas, what pass for cardinals around here are some really crummy looking birds.


One bright, clear Sunday morning in late spring I looked up from my computer and saw this scarlet tanager alight on a branch right outside my window. I'd never seen one before, but there was no question in my mind what it was. I grabbed my camera and, after getting a couple of shots through the window, I went out on the patio and shot him a dozen more times over the next 20 minutes as he tried different perches all over the back yard.


Two days before I encountered the scarlet tanager, I'd read an article in the New York Times about someone possibly having found an ivory billed woodpecker in the swamps of southeast Arkansas, 40 years or more after they'd been declared extinct. (The last reported sighting had been in 1944.) From the descriptions, I decided I would love to have seen an ivory bill. I remembered seeing a huge woodpecker in the woods behind my first house in Georgia in 1986. I did some checking at the library after I'd seen it, and decided what I had seen was not an ivory bill, but a pileated woodpecker. Thinking back to the one I had seen in 1986, I looked out my window and saw the one above only 20 feet from the house. I took half a dozen shots from my desk, afraid to move into the living room to try for a closer shot. When I finally did move to the next room, he had disappeared.


Occasionally there are more than one player in these little glimpses of a bird's life - like the turkey chastised by the owl. In the drama above, the bluejay took the stage first, standing precisely where the Downey woodpecker is in the picture above. The Downey dropped in, ignoring the bluejay which was forced to jump back to his position in the picture. Both birds were apparently too close to the entrance of the chipmunk's den, about 8 inches in front of the Downey. The chipmunk, which had been going nuts, running back and forth at the top of the bank when the bluejay first appeared, decided a more aggressive approach was necessary when the Downey arrived. He raced across the top of the bank and leaped at the two birds, landing where he is in the picture. Neither of of the birds appeared to be put off in the slightest. The chipmunk continued to approach the birds, carefully, until he was midway between the birds and his hole. Both birds seem to regard the chipmunk as the local "crazy", and after a few minutes both of them flew off.

Were I not retired, if I had to make a living working at home - in Kennesaw at least, if not in Austin - I'd never make it. I'm much too easily distracted by little happenings going on around me.

Parker dogs I have known. . .

I was going about my chores the other afternoon. Having gotten a haircut and returned some pillows to Mary, I was on my way to Mother's to deliver a chair that had needed some minor repair work when I got a call on my cell phone from Karen. She averred that she didn't like to talk to people on the phone while they were driving, then spent the next several minutes telling me about their new puppy. (She did also mention in passing that her daughter Lisa had broken her hand.) Now, ever on the lookout for a likely blog post subject, I thought, "Family Pets! That's the ticket." I had to restrict this post to dogs, however, when I realized I only have pictures of a few of the several cats in the various Parker households, and none of the goldfish, hamsters, gerbils, parakeets, etc. So. . .

If you get to thinking you're a person of some influence, try ordering somebody else's dog around.~Will Rogers

. . . please allow me to introduce the newest member of the Parker Pet Family, Sox (or Socks, I haven't requested a final determination). For the present I'll stick with Sox, a seven-year-old golden retriever / white lab mix - some puppy, Karen. Several of us decided last night at dinner the Sox didn't do too well at following commands. But this morning, after reviewing the literature about dogs, I've decided that Will Rogers' comment (above) is probably at work here. In time, I'm sure Sox will respond to commands at least as well as Lisa and Daniel always did. As seen in the photograph I took last night, Sox has already settled in nicely - precisely in the center of household traffic.

A dog can express more with his tail in seconds than his owner can express with his tongue in hours.~Author Unknown

This lovely golden retriever - a strawberry blonde if ever there was one - is Shadow, Sox predecessor, defender of the house (whether all those various cats believed it or not), and bane of swimming children - "Aunt Karen! The dog's in the pool and won't leave us alone ."

No one appreciates the very special genius of your conversation as the dog does.~Christopher Morley

This pensive Irish terrier, Major, loves to run with Stephen or Maureen, chase squirrels (or deer if you were to hear him tell it), or bark at them if he's not free to give chase. Most of the time I spend with Major is "quiet time" when he and I relax together. He always looks so comfortable it makes me think, "What could be better than being an orange dog in an orange town, named for an orange icon? (Those Longhorn references would be: Major; Austin: and Major Applewhite - Hook 'Em Horns!)

If you can look at a dog and not feel vicarious excitement and affection, you must be a cat.
~Author Unknown

Angela and Danny's golden retriever, Chester, is another fine dog who has had to put up with an awful lot of feline foolishness in his life. Having grown up with a house full of cats, he realizes the importance of maintaining his status as the house dog and is always ready to launch a mock attack on the furry snobs. These events are always accompanied by a great clamor, an impressive show of teeth, and usually end with the cat conceding surrender, lying still in Chester's open mouth. It must all be great fun for him, otherwise, how could he show such restraint?

Dogs feel very strongly that they should always go with you in the car, in case the need should arise for them to bark violently at nothing right in your ear.
~Dave Barry

This one is Tracy's catahoula, Peso, what Danny calls a Louisiana pig dog. They are apparently bred there and in East Texas to hunt razorbacks - they'd have a field day up in Fayetteville, Arkansas. I don't see much of Peso except when Tracy brings her to Thanksgiving or Christmas dinners at Angela and Danny's. She always seems to be on her best behavior, intimidated by Chester's size, I think, and refusing even to acknowledge the comings and goings of the household cats.

We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment.
~George Eliot

We took ours in pairs. These two siblings, Mason and Allie, are a chow / black lab mix that we had in Arlington and took with us to Georgia. You can't tell from the pictures, but Mason (on the left) was easily twice as big as Allie (on the right). They're both gone now and haven't been replaced.

I like a bit of mongrel myself, whether it's a man or a dog; they're the best for everyday.
~George Bernard Shaw

This is our first pair, Dallas and Dubbo, the picture having been taken in 1982 when I was in college. Sally and I got Dallas in California in '75 while I was still in the Navy. Dallas was a traveler - rode several times all the way from Lemoore, Ca. to Grand Prairie, Tx. on my lap in the 240Z. Then, when I learned to fly, I'd take her with me in the aero club's Cessna 150's or the Piper Cherokees. My buddies in the control tower referred to her as "Dallas the Flying Dog" and never failed to ask whether she was aboard.

Dubbo, Dallas' pup, was born in Texas in 1978 after I had gotten out of the Navy. She moved to Austin with us in '79. Her big adventure was escaping from the yard with Dallas one day. Dallas returned about four hours later and we didn't find Dubbo until six months later when she returned to us. She died in Austin in late '82. Dallas moved with us to Georgia and then to Arlington and died there in 1989 after 14 years.

***

This hagiology doesn't cover Karen and Richard's black lab, Houston, who lived with them in the early 80's, Paul and Lee's dogs: Alex (boxer), Maggie (golden), and Sasha (golden), or Melissa and Blake's shih-zhu, Sammy. Hey, what could I do - no pics!

Rather than dump the unused result of my morning's research on literary dog references, I leave you with the following:

A cat, after being scolded, goes about its business. A dog slinks off into a corner and pretends to be doing a serious self-reappraisal.~Robert Brault

Labradors [are] lousy watchdogs. They usually bark when there is a stranger about, but it is an expression of unmitigated joy at the chance to meet somebody new, not a warning.~Norman Strung

Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really.~Agnes Sligh Turnbull

Properly trained, a man can be dog's best friend.~Corey Ford

If you think dogs can't count, try putting three dog biscuits in your pocket and then giving Fido only two of them.~Phil Pastoret

The dog is a yes-animal, very popular with people who can't afford to keep a yes-man.~Robertson Davies

The most affectionate creature in the world is a wet dog.~Ambrose Bierce

I wonder what goes through his mind when he sees us peeing in his water bowl.~Penny Ward Moser

And, of course,Happiness is a warm puppy.~Charles M. Schulz