The Grandstand Passion Play of Delbert and the Bumpus Hounds

If anyone out there has never seen a fox in real life, come up to the Pack Station around dusk and you will see several thousand of them. At least it feels that way. They are getting into everything.

And they bark and snort all night long, at times seeming to nag me for some better garbage. We try to keep the lids closed on the dumpsters and empty any cans with food in them, but they will attack all kinds of things. They have eaten innumerable bowls of cat food, an entire 35 lb. bag of dog food, dozens of hot dog buns, half a box of ketchup packets and squirt bottle full of Eric's Carolina Vinegar Sauce. Last week they stole a dozen packaged muffins and got into a bag of 4-way grain for the goats. They have even pooped on the hay bales in the Feed Room.

I am annoyed by how cute they are because I can't bring myself to hit them with the BB gun. One of them is especially friendly and I have named him "Curly" because he has a deformed tail that curls up and around like that of a Chow dog. I suppose I'm not helping the epidemic by tossing slices of smoked turkey to him.

I typed the above last night for posting today. Overnight they foxes somehow managed to destroy a nylon canopy (click on the thumbnail) and they even urinated in the cat food bowl.

We Were On a Break!

I needed some space. I was feeling smothered and I needed time to think. Oh sure, I read some other blogs, but I didn't write for any of them. In fact, it only made me appreciate this blog more.

Actually, I was taking this blog too seriously. In the introduction I said that my intent is to record canyon life, however dull the story may be. I got caught up in trying to come up with clever titles and attempting to be entertaining. Also, I mostly just type with my two index fingers so a blog entry can be time consuming. Enough excuses. I will try to write here more often.

P.S. Speaking of clever titles, I don't know what this one means. I'm a mountain man, so I haven't even seen that TV show, and I sure as heck don't know what it means to be a lobster.

My Garden part III: Roll Out The Barrels

Well, the garden I planted around the Pack Station porch and deck was a complete failure. Not because I didn't now what I was doing, but because of inconsiderate people who stepped on my plants, allowed their dogs to dig them up etc. (see My Garden in November '06 to see what the first garden looked like). Sue and I decided a long time ago that pots or planters were the way to go. I wanted to use a variety of the large and extra-large Mexican pots, the kind with an aged-looking paint job so they're not that awful bright orange. It turns out they are not as easy to find as they were a few years ago, and we didn't look very hard anyway. Then we kinda forgot about the pots, although the subject half-heartedly surfaced once in a while.

I hadn't put my brain into landscaper mode in quite a while, but it finally occurred to me what to use for the garden plants. Whiskey barrels! Actually, what you mostly find are red wine barrels (that is, the wine is red, not the barrels) made of oak. They are also commonly called half Oak barrels. Whatever you call them, they are rustic looking, inexpensive, tall enough to keep the dogs out of the flowers, and durable enough to withstand a car backing into them.

So, a couple hundred bucks and one hour's work later we have three nicely planted barrels at three key points in front of the store. Hopefully they will be filled in for our anniversary party on July 14th.

Construction Time Again

I know what you are all thinking: "Hey! That's the name of a Depeche Mode album. It marked the transition from simple melodic synth-pop to the industrial." No? Well, nevermind. I don't REALLY know anything about 80's New Wave music. Anyway, there is a lot of construction going on in the canyon. I've told you about all the trips Brad and I made up Winter Creek to cabin #139. That project is finally finished and the cabin is now sturdier than it ever was. Although to look at it you wouldn't think that more than a little touch-up work was done. Most of the work was done to the foundation, and a new kitchen floor. One would notice the new roofing, however. Mike Pauro and Cam Stone really did a great job, as usual.

Mike and Cam are now working on cabin #128 in Winter Creek, near Hoegee's Campground. A lot of the siding had rotted at the bottom. Poor drainage around the cabin was mostly to blame. Most of the cabin sits on the ground and the siding, which was a little too low, wicked water up through the end grain. It also affected the 1 X 4 corner trim.

Now, it was recently written on the Forest Service review of this cabin that the owner, Linda Pillsbury, was to do something to close the few gaps between the ground and the cabin. She could have taken the functional yet tacky route and just stapled some hardware cloth, but she took the opportunity to repair the wood, close the gaps, and prevent future rotting all at once. But how do you close the gaps and prevent the wicking on the sections that sit on the ground? Well, you don't entirely isolate wood from water, but you can reduce the wicking by keeping the end grain off the ground and use a horizontal trim piece at the bottom, a piece that can easily be replaced if it rots. Secondly, the sides on the ground have concrete walkways that run along the edge of the cabin. Mike used reinforced "scratch & brown" stucco to build a water-shedding berm that closes the gaps. The front of the cabin, which is off the ground, was sealed with more of the stucco and large rocks.

So, why am I telling you all of this? Shouldn't it go on Mike's blog, if he had one? That's a legitimate question. Maybe I'm filling space because I feel embarrassed by the one poor, pitiful entry for May. Mostly it's set-up for all the packing I did. All that material didn't get two-and-a-half miles into the forest on its own. Oh, and the donkeys helped a little, too.

The biggest problem with this job, for me and the donkeys anyway, was that cabin #128 is clad in T-111 siding. That's the plywood with phony-looking grooves cut in it to make it look like individual boards; it's essentially heavy-duty paneling. And it comes in 4' X 8' sheets. Fortunately, only the very bottom had rotted and we did not need to bring in full 4 X 8's. Unfortunately, Mike didn't want seams running around the bottom two feet of the cabin. If he could have cut each sheet into four 2 X 4 pieces, they would have slipped into the saddle bags. The bottoms of the windows on the cabin are at 47 inches. If he replaced all of the siding from that point down, he could then cover the seams with a 1 X 4 trim piece that matches and lines up with the window trim. So we had to pack in 4' X 4' sheets of the T-111; and that means top-loading.

I haven't done much top-loading in a long, long time. Not too long ago I took a steel headboard out of cabin #83, but that was fairly easy because it slipped over the crosses of the saddle; and the trip back to the Pack Station is easy. The same went for the bed frame that Brad and I packed out of cabin #59. But it's whole different ball game when dealing with the flat surfaces of plywood, and traveling up Winter Creek with four sets of switchbacks and seven-and-a-half stream crossings before reaching cabin #128. Besides that, each piece weighs 30 pounds and there were 22 pieces!

Kim had a top-loading frame that bolted onto one of the old wooden saddles. It never worked very well and the last time I tried to use it was almost two years ago, when Deb repaired the roof on cabin #70. I only made it as far as cabin #35 from Roberts' Camp, and I wound up throwing it in the stream out of spite. After I delivered the rest of her plywood on a dolly, I picked up the top-loader to salvage the bolts, but that still left us without a top-loader. I had to come up with something to fit our new saddles that have aluminum arches.

The arches are adjustable, so the left and right sides bolt together with a single bolt at front and back. I cut a four foot length of 2 X 3 pine for each pair of arches, I drilled a hole in the center of each 2 X 3, and bought longer bolts with wing nuts to hold the boards to the saddle. But with only one bolt on each, it would pivot from side to side. So on each board I drilled holes to each side of the center hole, and inserted bolts long enough to butt against the insides of the arches so that the 2 X 3's could not wiggle. OK, so now we have a sturdy platform for the plywood, but how do we keep it from sliding off?

Tying the plywood to the 2X3's would not be steady enough. It seems like it should work, but as is the case so many times in packing, a seemingly logical solution does not work in real life. Sue and I made one run to cabin #128 with a single donkey. We eventually got the load there, but we had to constantly readjust and tighten the ropes. So my idea was to use good old-fashioned C-clamps, one at each end of the 2X3's to hold the plywood tightly to the top-load boards. I didn't want to just screw them in because it would be more difficult to remove if we had an accident, and I wanted a system where we wouldn't need to carry a screw gun. A test run with the C-clamps around the parking lot proved hopeful, but the clamps I bought would only reach around two sheets of the plywood and the top-loader. Plus I wanted to make sure the plywood wouldn't twist on the top-loader. So I got bigger C-clamps and added L-brackets, one to each end of the 2 X 3's.

The next trip up Winter Creek, with both Slim and Bill, went beautifully. We had to stop once to tighten the rope that holds the wide-load cinch, but learning from that experience, we needed no adjustments for the second run. Just one more modification to the design, which I will try tomorrow, is to use bungee cords to fasten the extra cinch and hopefully speed the loading process.

Now don't you cabin owners get any bright ideas. Mike had a special circumstance in that the cabin was remodeled in the sixties, back when they could drive materials in along the check dam construction road. We are still discouraging the use of plywood, T-111, OSB, particle board etc. It's ugly, it's not historically accurate, it's unnecessary and it's a pain in the ass to pack. So if you still insist on using any of these, the special handling charges will still apply to 4' X 4' sheets. You will not only be a good and responsible cabin owner to use board construction, it will save you money in the long run, when you compare the packing charges.

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

It's been three weeks since my last post. Where have I been? Well, I've been here at the Pack Station, and in The Canyon, the whole time. But we have been very busy. Weekends are packed up here and weekdays have been booked with packing. Naturally this leaves little time for blogging, but I usually squeeze it in.

What really derailed me was my old computer. It kept rebooting on its own, many times wouldn't boot at all, there were conflicts between graphics software(?), broken-down RAM sticks, etc, etc. I kept throwing good money after bad. So I have my first ever NEW computer; until now I have only owned hand-me-downs! So I bought a new Windows machine with Vista Premium, three times the processor speed of my old one, twice the RAM and six times the hard drive space.

You may have noticed the new look of my blog. I got so excited by "computing" again that I looked into cascading style sheets. This one you see here started as a free template, but I changed it quite a bit, including my own Photoshopped image of the barn (home of the Bunkhouse).

The "About Me" and "Other Stuff" pages are coming soon, as well as photos of my new ride. Watch for bear photos on the News Page of the adamspackstation.com

Update:

The day after I saw the bear, Miriam Skarin at cabin #7 found some bear scat in her yard. Her cabin is at the bottom of the gulch that starts at the Pack Station. We found some scat here too.

On Tuesday, Sue had a man come up to fix the screen doors. While driving to Chantry, the repairman, Bruce Costantino - The Screen Bee, spotted a bear on the road in broad daylight. He managed to snap this photo about 3/4 mile down the road from the Pack Station. This appears to be smaller and younger than the bear I saw in the loading dock.

Our local ranger, Kevin Hunt, says that we may be seeing more bears in the front country this year because the high country is so dry. Cabin owners make sure you don't leave any garbage inside and campers make sure to hang your food.

Click the photo inset for a better look.

Things That Go "Bump" in the Night

Tonight some of the Pack Station cats weren't getting along. They banged my bunkhouse door as they chased each other in and out of the cat door, they kept knocking things over and several times my dog, Sergeant, had to break up a fight. So when I heard a big "crash" outside, I figured it was another cat fight. I could tell it came from the loading dock, eight feet away from my window.

But then I wondered if it could be a person out there rummaging around for something to steal. There were still an awful lot of cars in the parking lot when I went to bed. So I grabbed a flashlight and peeked my head out the door. Sure enough, there was someone all in black investigating the items in the loading dock. He had knocked over the garbage can. He didn't notice me at first, so I asked "Hey! What are you doing out there?" He just looked at me for a few seconds, a bit surprised I guess, then ran away fast on all fours.

One of these days I am going to get a photograph of a bear at the Pack Station.

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree

On the front page of this website I wrote that Adams' Pack Station is presumed to be the last of its kind in the United States; serving a residential community. There are a lot of recreational outfitters, and some that haul occasional building materials for public projects, but nobody hauls the diversity of items that we do. Here's a list of what Deb and Brad and I packed in the last week and you can decide for yourselves:

• beer


• 4 ten-gallon propane tanks


• 1 leaf blower


• food


• bottled water


• beer


• 1 air mattress


• 1 bedding set


• food


• beer


• sacks of concrete


• 1 lawn chair


• seventy-five feet of rusty 1" cable


• eight-foot pressure-treated 2X4's


• construction debris


• household waste


• 1 five gallon propane tank


• gasoline


• food


• wine


• 1 table lamp


• 1 lamp shade


• 1 set of wine glasses


• 30-plus eight-foot 2X6 boards


• nails


• 4-quart stock pot


• 1 spice rack


• beer


• folding camp chairs


• vinyl flooring squares


• roll roofing


• charcoal briquettes


• 1 empty 55-gallon drum


• beer


• sleeping bag


• pipe wrench


• non-dairy creamer


• Henry' weather-proof caulking


• lanterns


• drip edge


• empty beer cans

Black Magic Woman

About six years ago, a young female Rottweiler was found wandering the canyon. At the time she showed up, there were some workers staying in cabin #76, as they built a retaining wall for John Woodburn. The dog came sniffing around and they fed her table scraps. But it was clear that the dog needed medical attention as she had some severe wounds on her back.

Mike "The Fiddler" Pauro, whose cabin is just upstream from there, took her to the vet for inspection. People had been wondering if the wounds on her back were sunburns from being lost on the road in the summer time, but it was worse than that. The vet said that the wounds were consistent with a hot water scalding. Obviously someone had tortured her or tried to kill her, then dumped her at the end of the road here at Chantry Flat. Mike took care of the vet bills and took her home until he could find and owner for her. That was the start of a long relationship.

Mike jokes that he didn't want a woman in his life, choosing to concentrate on various art projects such as craftsman-style lamps and poetry. But he found companionship and unconditional love in the girl he named Allie. She followed him everywhere. She lived with Mike in town, she went with him to "The River", but of course The Canyon was Allie's favorite place. She would walk up passed The Falls with Mike to a place he calls "Magic". They would always find a cure for writer's block up there.

A couple of months ago, Allie started having problems with her back legs. They were sore and swollen. The edema progressed and eventually she could barely walk. Sue thinks she had a heart disease that was causing this problem. The vet bills were adding up and her condition was worsening in spite of them; and she had no quality of life. So Mike had to make the difficult decision to put her down. She was only about seven years old.

Just recently Mike and his daughter Tina took Allie's ashes up canyon and spread them around Magic. So if you spot a Rottweiler chasing a squirrel into a stand of Maple trees, about halfway between Cascade and Spruce Grove, you'll know she's in Heaven.

Click photo for full image.

That's MISTER Gorbechev to You!

When Mike Pauro saw what I was doing today he said: "There's only one way to finish a job, and that's to start it." You see, there was, I say WAS, a reinforced concrete pony wall outside the loading dock that needed to be removed. It was part of the enclosure that Dennis Lonergan built for garbage cans. Mike knew that this is the spot we chose to allow the cabin owners association to put up a storage shed.

The cabin owners have a pancake breakfast coming up this Saturday, so today I cleaned out all the spare lumber and junk that surrounded the enclosure, and emptied it of the cabin owners' chairs stored therein. Then I removed the hinged roof/lid. The thought was that if I set out a few sledge hammers, everyone could take a few whacks at it during breakfast and it would be knocked down by the end of the day. Naturally I had to take a few whacks at it beforehand.

As I swung the 16 lb. sledge, my thoughts wandered to all the guys that whined about how hard it was going to be; so I kept swinging. I also realized that nobody would want to work on their day off, so I kept swinging. I remembered that Rich is bringing Jason up to work tomorrow and he could clean up the pieces, so I kept swinging. Everyone complained about how long it would take to remove the wall, so I kept swinging.

So today, on MY day off, I broke up the whole wall by myself. No, it wasn't easy, especially not with my broken back still healing, but so what? The whole project, from the time I started cleaning until I removed the last block was only three hours; by myself mind you. I didn't rush, I just worked slow and steady. Mike was right. The only way to finish a job is to start it.

That's the moral of the story. The point of the story is that I now reserve the right to rib the guys about how they made such a big deal out of this. Now that the space is cleared, they can assemble the shed after the pancake breakfast.

I found a treasure hidden inside one of the cinder blocks of the wall, encased in concrete. A little orange plastic bottle way down at the bottom.

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Feet

Once in a while a critter will break into the Feed Room and steal kitty food. We still store it in the giant popcorn tin that Kim used for years. It's kinda beat-up, so the lid doesn't always fit tightly. More than once I've caught a skunk with its head in the can. Naturally I just let them eat. Also, this year has brought a lot of foxes to Chantry Flat, so I wouldn't be surprised to catch one munching kibble. But I never expected what I saw today.

I left the lid off the cat food can because sometimes The Girls fight over the bowl, and they can eat off of the lid with room to share. Sitting casually amongst the left-overs tonight was a Giant Millipede. I have seen them on several occasions over in Eaton Canyon near Altadena. Some are twice the size of this one. They crawl all over the rocks at the base of Eaton Falls on misty days. I've also found a couple in my mother's moist garden on New York Drive, also in Altadena. This tells me they like to come out on wet days, like the newts do. And today was a very foggy, drizzly day. So why was it in the middle of a bone-dry hay room? And why was it in the cat food?

My guess is that one of the cats captured it and brought it to the dinner table. It was released unharmed because they have a defense mechanism. Some millipedes excrete fairly caustic and toxic substances. The ones we have here are not dangerous, but they do excrete a liquid when handled. This yellowish juice is undoubtedly very foul-tasting, even to cats. Or maybe Millipedes taste like feet. Either way, the bug was spit out on the plate.

Click on the photo to get a better look at the millipede.

The Cisco Kid, Again

Yesterday I had a short pack for Miriam Sharkin. Her cabin, #7 at the old First Water site, is a stone's throw below the Pack Station in the canyon bottom, but the trail is about 3/4 of a mile. It's marked as the First Water Switchbacks on our canyon map. Every time I take this trail I appreciate it more. It can be blazing hot & still, and cool & shady & breezy at the same time. It clearly demonstrates the difference between the north-facing and the south-facing slopes of the San Gabriels.

Miriam had some garbage and junk to be hauled out of her "dungeon" (that's the storeroom under the porch). I had a rough idea of what she needed packed, since she had shown me on an earlier trip, so I knew that there were some large foam pads. I saddled up Bill & Slim because the two would have been enough to handle the light weight, but I was concerned about the bulk.

Cisco, our 34-year-old retired donkey, has been following along naked with the pack string, enjoying his second childhood. He wanted to come with us yesterday so I put a saddle and panniers on him. I knew that the foam pads wouldn't be too heavy for him. I had my "big three" working together again. Bill, Slim and Cisco know every inch of our trails, go where I ask and carry anything. This is especially important when one is packing alone.

As it turned out, I needed three animals because of the volume of the loads. Cisco had a great time helping out and he seemed very proud of himself. I write some goofy things in this blog, but I am serious here. Donkeys really do have feelings and personalities and I could tell that Cisco was glad to help out. Click on the photo to get a better look at him when we got back.

The Plat-Billed Duckypus

George "Geo" Tseko is owner of cabin #29 in the Main Canyon. On one of his recent hikes he spotted a strange creature walking through the forest. I guess that makes two strange creatures walking through the forest, but that's beside the point. I can't testify to his state of mind, but he swears that he saw a duck-like animal with three feet and a crazy hair-do. As far as I know, this is the first reported sighting of such a beast.

As a graduation present for Deb Burgess, Geo described this creature to an artist, and had it immortalized in ceramic. The model now adorns a patio table on the Pack Station deck. To honor the man who made the discovery we have named him "Curious George"; and he has officially been classified as a "Plat-Billed Duckypus". Click on his photo for a better look.

Yes, It's Spelled with Two S's

I had an interesting pack today. As you can see from the photo, it involves 12-foot 4X4's. These and the slats in the panniers are the components of Mary Douglass' new footbridge. Her cabin is on the East Fork, across the stream from the others in the group.

The "Main Canyon" crossing at cabin #67 is relatively flat with good stepping stones, and the crossing just upstream between cabins #64 & #69 has a plank bridge. So it's easy to get from the trail to the mouth of the East Fork. But the East Fork is narrow and rocky, and to cross again to Mary's cabin can be rough.

She used to have a bridge, but it washed out in either October, 2004 or January 2005; I don't remember which. The bridge, like that at cabin #64, was not fixed. It was chained to a tree, and storm waters would wash it parallel to the stream. One simply had to replace it across the stream once in a while. Well, it must have gotten splintered in the storm by a fast-moving rock or log (another good reason not to cross flood waters!).

Mary's son, Dave Douglass, brought in a new bridge for her. He made it with two 4X4's to span the stream, and wooden slats for a surface. Everything was pre-cut, pre-drilled, and pre-assembled. Then he numbered all the parts and disassembled it for packing.

This is the perfect opportunity to show how I pack such long items on such little animals (smaller than mules and horses, that is). The 12-foot lumber is extremely difficult to pack to half of the cabins using this method. As you can see, the donkeys can't make the tight turns and switchbacks. It would also require more than one packer. But it is the safest and easiest way in the "Main Canyon"; and I can do it alone.

In this case, the 4X4's were only about 30 lbs each. I also needed to pack in the slats. Since I was by myself, and two donkeys connected in this fashion is all one man to handle, I couldn't use more than Bill & Slim. So what I did was saddle them with the panniers, something we don't normally do with lumber. I tied one end of each 4X4 to the front cross of the front animal, then the other ends to the rear cross of the rear animal. This has always worked for me before, but because the ropes have to be looser than normal, the lumber has a tendency slip and slide. Today I wrapped duct tape around each rope and the lumber (click the inset photo to enlarge). This really did the trick. Once the 4X4's were in place, I put the slats in the panniers on end. A happy accident occurred when I cinched up the bags with the short lumber - they made very sturdy slings for the 4X4's. This was not necessary, but reassuring.

Everything arrived safely, and without any mid-trail adjustments. Dave will probably put the bridge in place this weekend.

Go West, Young Man

For those of you confounded by the cabin numbering system in the Big Santa Anita, try this one on for size...The Pack Station is #141. Today Brad and I packed to cabin #139. The round trip took almost five hours! That's because #139 is the cabin farthest up Winter Creek. It's actually farther west than Sturtevant's Camp.

Brad got the job to extensively refurbish the cabin, including major foundation work and new roofing. He is working with Mike Pauro and Cam Stone on the project. We started hauling building materials up today; mostly pressure-treated 2X4's & 4X4's and concrete piers. We also brought floor jacks to lift the entire cabin, nails & screws, trash bags and a wheelbarrow in pieces. We used seven animals and that barely put a dent in the materials needed.

We split the train up into two strings for safety reasons. Brad led Fred with Andy and Eeyore. I led Slim with Bill, Heasley and Calico. The night before I had to rebuild Andy's britchen and make adjustments to the saddle that Ray Underwood rebuilt for Eeyore. I was suspicious that something would go wrong today when everything started off so well. Andy and Eeyore, who normally avoid work, both let me slip halters on without any fuss or trying to run. Then the saddles fit just right. The new kind of rope I had cut up for tying lumber worked perfectly. Calico, new to hauling eight-foot lumber, didn't even flinch when the boards were loaded over her head. This is starting to sound like a set-up for something awful, but everything went relatively well. In fact, the only problem we had was with the two veterans.

The whole way up, Bill continually jammed the front of his lumber into the back of Slim's; mostly because he kept trying to snack on all the new green grass. Finally, just a couple hundred feet from our destination, Bill pushed hard enough to cause Slim's load and saddle to slip to one side. I have said it before: that's why we use donkeys for this kind of work. Mules can carry more weight, but when something like that goes wrong, a donkey stops and waits for you to correct the situation, a mule tries to run from it! Anyway, since we were just around the bend from the cabin, I just loosened Slim's saddle and let it fall to the ground, disconnected Bill's lead, and gave Slim a pat on the rear to make him catch up to the first string (good thing they're herd animals). I led the rest to the cabin and returned to carry the lumber and saddle myself; Brad taking half of the load. It seems complicated, but it was no big deal.

Another thing that bears mentioning is the result of my donkey training. I have chosen a stall for the lovebirds, Heasley & Calico, and taught them to eat in there every time. The idea was that they would be easier to catch when it's time to go to work. Besides, Calico throws a lot of hay out of the bin, and this way I can control the waste a little. So today, the second time haltering them directly form the stall, did not go well. All I have to do is halter her, and he will follow. I stepped in the stall to halter Calico and closed the door behind me. She denied my requests, then dodged my attempts, then she made a standing high jump over the stall door. I had not latched the door, so when her belly grazed the top, it opened underneath her and tripped her up. This caused her rear legs to get hung up on the old door, which has a notch worn in it just the right size for hooking a donkey hoof. She freed the hoof before I could get to her around Heasley and she landed OK. She managed to scrape some hair off the leg, but was otherwise fine. She was shaky, though, and I felt bad for her. Donkeys are big kids, and scrapes and traumas can usually be soothed by ample hugs & kisses. I'll put a guard on the top of that door.

Wounded Knee Hill

This past Saturday I packed into the Stanleys' cabin, #131 in Winter Creek. They only had a single animal load, so Slim and I got out early to beat them up to the cabin and to get back in time to help with the store and parking.

It was a relatively uneventful trip in, and I got to #131 before the Stanley's and the keys actually worked. So far, so good. Eric Woodyard had asked me to pick up some phone repair equipment from his cabin, #130 across the trail, up on a hill. His keys worked too and I quickly located the gear.

I loaded Slim, fueled him on granola bars and head down the hill. As I placed my right foot on the rocks that serve as a patio step, one of them gave way. I went down hard and really tweaked my knee. This event coincided with the arrival of the Stanleys. They heard the crash, looked up the hill to see me on the ground, and went about their business. They seem like very nice people, though, and I don't mean to suggest that they ignored my plight. They probably heard the stream of obscenities and decided to give me some space.

It doesn't matter anyway, as I was able to walk in a minute or two. But I did have two rocky miles and seven stream crossings before reaching the road. As I approached Roberts' Camp, I saw a Sierra Madre Search & Rescue crew headed toward me. For a second I thought that the Stanleys had called them to assist me, but they were just training. I dropped the phone gear in the Roberts call box then limped a miserable half-mile back to Chantry.

The knee really stiffened up overnight and I had a painful time of it on Sunday. I bought a neoprene brace and have mostly stayed off the knee all day today. It feels much better. I hope it improves by morning, as I need to pack for Tony and Chris Chasteen to cabin #40; then again to #40 on Thursday. Also the corral is now a mess because I haven't been able to dump the wheelbarrows.

Even a minor injury can really jam the works, and it's one more reason why I am so careful on the trails. My mistake on Saturday was to put more faith in that particular rock than any other rock because it was being used as a step. I am aware of so many things that can hurt me out there, and I expect the unexpected, yet I still get injured. I can only shake my head at the people who go frolicking carefree through the wilderness as if it were a city park.

Thank You!!

WHEW! It has been a crazy, busy week and I have been neglecting my web duties. I wrote about Deb's graduation party on Page Two and what a big production it was. It took a lot of work by a lot of people. What I didn't say was that everyone left me alone at the store, on a Saturday, to go to Deb's graduation ceremony. Fortunately they arranged for back up. I bet it won't be hard to guess who came to the rescue - Eric Woodyard.

Actually, I want to thank the Woodyard family (where were you Paul?). Eric informally planned to stay for the whole day, but arranged for his wife, Monica, to help in the afternoon in case he had enough. Eric is our resident Dutch oven chef, and on a whim he decided to make Pulled Pork Sandwiches for sale. They were a big hit and I think he'll make it an irregular thing.

Eric's daughter, Gabby, came up to run the register for the day; she brought her friend Taylor. Gabby was a little nervous about running the Quick Books program that operates our cash register, but she did just fine. She also picked up on the prices, hiking directions etc. Eric told her I might make her famous on the website if she helped us out, so here you go... Gabby Woodyard is on the left, her friend Taylor is on the right.

Ratings Are Up!

Welcome to Greg's Blog; brought to you in part by the Archer Daniels Midland Company. It seems that quite a few people are reading this thing. In fact, mine is probably the most influential poop-scoopin', donkey-packin' mountain blog that you are reading right now. Folks are telling their friends and last week I got a plug in local Sierra Madre paper The Mount Wilson Observer. Recently I got an e-mail from a reader in Japan, home of the affordable and reliable Toyota automobile.

But never fear, even with its new-found notoriety, this little blog will not outgrow its humble beginnings and, like The Home Depot, will continue to serve the local community. Remember: you can do it, The Home Depot can help. No, my fame won't affect the look or feel of this blog one bit, although the kudos are refreshing - as refreshing as an ice cold Coca-Cola.

Well, this blog entry is finished. What am I going to do? I'm going to Disneyland!



Stay tuned for the rest of...      the story.

Get a Grip, Brad

Brad Bryce and I packed to Sturtevant's Camp this past Friday, and Geo from cabin #29 came along for the ride. He had never been to Camp. In fact, I don't think he had been past Pub 38. We had a good visit with Joan and ate lunch at the picnic table. It was a very pleasant day until we got about halfway down the stock trail.

Geo was out front and Brad was leading Fred at the front of the string, followed by Bill, Slim, Heasley, and Calico. From my position in the rear, as we passed through the area known as Hoegee's Drop-off, I noticed a rock tumbling down the hillside above the animals. It launched itself silently, end-over-end toward Bill. Before I could say anything, the rock hit Bill in the saddle bag, so he wasn't hurt, but it spooked Fred. It was at that moment that Brad learned the hard way to always carry the lead rope in the downhill hand.

When he turned to see what was happening with Fred, he naturally turned in the direction of the lead, which placed him on the outside edge of the trail. This also gave Fred an opening between Brad and the uphill slope. Fred was carrying empty propane tanks, so he was just wide enough to knock Brad off the trail.

Those of you who are familiar with that section of trail know that he is lucky to be alive. In an instant Brad went from merrily strolling down the trail to hanging on the edge by his fingertips! It's weird how the mind works. He had a funny, irrational concern for keeping the string from running down the trail and didn't seem to realize his precarious predicament. Geo held out his walking stick to give Brad something on which to pull himself up, but it only served to worry Fred some more. I finally convinced Brad to let go of the lead rope. Even though it was the most secure thing for him to hold onto, I wanted Geo to take the animals around the bend before they both fell off the cliff. Besides, with the string out of the way, I could move into position to anchor Brad, since I weigh twice what he does. He managed to pull himself up before I could get to him and was shaking like a leaf. Geo is far from mule savvy, but since he was out in front, he calmly led Fred around the bend to the next inside turn, where there was enough room to get everything straightened out.

It wasn't until we were back on solid ground at Fern Lodge that I asked Brad if he knew the significance of the spot where he was hanging; he didn't. It is called Hogee's Drop-off because Vint Hoegee and his horse fell to their deaths off that cliff. That's when reality sank in.

Nothing could have prevented that rock from falling, and if Brad had turned to the inside of the trail we might have lost some animals. But as it turned out, what compounded the situation was the width of the trail. We could have more safely reorganized if the trail were wider, and if the string had bolted, there would have been room for hikers down trail to step aside from five charging equine. Nobody said this packing business is safe, but we could make it safer with wider trails (more about that later).

Class, Please Come To Order

Welcome to "Greg's Blog 101". If you're looking for "Sensitivity Training", it's across the hall in the H.R. Department. Today we will begin with the entry about the cabin #78 fire (or "Area 78" if you prefer). I want to jump right in with the most controversial topic first (future topics will include "How the CIA killed John F. Kennedy", "How the U.S. government staged the Moon landing to win the space race" and "The technologies learned from the crash at Roswell, and why they're being kept secret"). But, before we can move on, we need to discuss what we have read. And since that little item titled A Note to Canyon Folk is being dissected and poured over as if it were a Homeric epic, I thought I would break it down for you. Not to the quark level, as some of you would have it, but hopefully enough to calm the hand-wringers amongst you.

First things first. Why did I write about the incident at all? Because it would have been weird if I hadn't. If I am to maintain this blog as more than just a collection of goofy musings, I had to write about such a traumatic event. As I wrote in the introduction, the intent here is to record Canyon history. Not as a mere sequence of occurrences, but as a glimpse back in time; hence the personal touch. I'm sorry if I embarrassed those of you who would rather go around whispering...well, actually, no I'm not.

So why did it take me several days to post the entry? I waited to collect my thoughts. The whole affair was physically and emotionally exhausting and left a lot to sort out in one's head. I think I came to a fair and reasonable state of mind.

Now, why did I start so bluntly in the first paragraph? The answer is in what at first seems to be a change of subject for the second paragraph. Those things had to be said and had to be said at the beginning. They were what I and a lot of other people were thinking; but it's not what I wanted to leave you with in the end. I could have down-played the cause of the fire, but it would have been a disservice; and obvious.

So the second paragraph was a set-up for the third, which was an attempt to disband the lynch mob. It was a reminder that we all need to stick together. The Forest Service in general may not care about you as an individual, but it does value the cabin tract on the whole. This includes the Pack Station, Sturtevant's Camp and the phone system. Public interest, and consequently that of the press, is in the community and how it functions. The allegiance of "Cabintown" ought always be maintained, lest "they" divide and conquer. These are just pragmatic reasons to get along, aside from the Humanity of it all (Yes, I know that h is capitalized. It shows reverence to the concept). I also point out that you, even you in the back of the class, especially you in the back, may one day benefit from a communal attitude.

Paragraph four recognizes that ultimately it is the Forest Service that decides whether the cabin may be rebuilt (or whether it can be "restored", to get technical), but that the decisions are made by real people, and their own opinions could distort their interpretation of the rules. This paragraph contains the words "Daniel, fault, deny, prevent, doubt and charity". I think some people only read those words. What part of "I don't want to see the Forest Service deny Daniel a permit because he is blind" led you to believe that I was picking on him? Is it because I said he is blind? It's OK, Daniel knows he's blind. I used to joke with him that it is dangerous to hike at night and he found it humorous. One look at his website (World Access for the Blind) should tell you that he doesn't want you feeling sorry for him, and if anyone else would be denied "restoration" permission, so should he. Then I use Glen Owens and Dr. White as examples of folks who have extended a neighborly hand.

Next paragraph: Here I address the feelings many people had that Daniel seemed to show no remorse, and I offered some possible explanations to which we all can relate. Personal correspondence with him has since revealed that he is quite reclusive. I go on to say that "it is my opinion that he needs to admit that blindness has its handicaps...". It seems to me he would be out of a job were that statement not true. But really, all I was saying is that even though Daniel has a "No Limits" mantra (Oops, I forgot. Choose every word carefully. Mantra sounds too fanatical. Motto? No, too frivolous. Apothegm!)...even though Daniel has a "No Limits" apothegm, the proper public relations policy would be to work with the rest of the community that both sides might better understand each other, and in return I expect the others to be supportive.

The sixth paragraph was meant to defend Dan Ames against any undue scrutiny. He's a good guy, and his possible role in the fire is between Daniel and him. He may hold a professional responsibility, but he was absolved from any personal responsibility the moment Daniel became aware of the hazard.

The meaning of the last paragraph seemed to me as plain as the words that form it, but I will explain it anyway. What I meant by "That's not right. Who wants a new cabin in here?" is that what makes the Big Santa Anita special is the fact that 83 Special Use Permits have survived the wrath of Mother Nature and Uncle Sam, and remains mostly how it was 100 years ago. Then I meant to describe how, over time, rebuilt cabins and room additions have a tendency to blend in (note that I did not mention cabin #12). Cabin #130 in particular was refurbished quite tastefully, so read slowly: cabin #130 is a fine example of appropriate restoration. Got it? Then I say that a "restored" cabin #78 needn't be a plywood palace; and if Dan Ames' woodworking skills are employed, you can rest assured that it will be an accurate replica (look at the front deck on cabin #106, by the bridge, for an example of his work). I end by saying that regardless of any mixed emotions at the time, later on I would lament the passing of another cabin. I was honestly on the side of giving someone another chance, and the very controversy that resulted from that blog entry is what I hoped it would squelch. In case any of you stopped reading one sentence short of the final period, it was "I am now in favor of rebuilding [restoring] cabin #78 and would love for Daniel to stay here with us". I don't know how to expatiate on that simply stated position, but I will say this: Never did I suggest that the "stupid" thing Daniel did was to live his cabin life as would a sighted person. The stupid, and stubborn, thing he did was to light the stove when he knew it was dangerous. That statement alone ought not negatively affect blind/sighted relations ("ought not", that means I can't help it if people are dense), and the added responsibility to protect Daniel's public image is his own. Class dismissed.

As always, there is a link here at the end for any comments. Go ahead, make your opinion known. I can't be the only one

New Pack Station Song

99 shovels of shit on the hill,
99 shovels of shit
Take one down, and pass it around
98 shovels of shit on the hill.

98 shovels of ...

A Note to Canyon Folk

Well, as you may have read on the News Page of the Pack Station site, cabin #78 was burned down. No, it didn't burn down. The cabin's owner, Daniel Kish, did a really stupid thing and burned the cabin down. He had been repeatedly warned that the faulty stovepipe installation was dangerous, that he was lucky the cabin hadn't burned already. Yet he insisted on giving the stove a chance, which put all the other cabins and human lives in jeopardy. He gambled and lost. Daniel knew that the cabin wall could combust, yet he failed locate his fire extinguisher in advance of lighting the fire; he didn't remove the explosives from the premises; he didn't even keep an eye on the warmth of the wall, so that he might douse the fire in the stove before things got out of control. A lot of people are righteously angry with him.

The Big Santa Anita is a very pretty canyon. However, there are other canyons in the San Gabriels that still have cabins; canyons with perennial streams, waterfalls and lush growth. Yeah, they have electricity and don't have a pack station. But, to look at those canyons they are not much different from ours. I think the true beauty of this canyon is the sense of community.

I liked when Michael Kennedy of the Los Angeles Times announced us as "a kwirky cast of characters". We are an eclectic bunch that somehow manages to get along and care for each other. Outside The Canyon we don't have much in common, but here we are family. And where I come from, family doesn't give up on its own just because they did something stupid. There was no malicious intent to what Daniel did, and think about how he feels now without his beloved cabin. No one needs to tell him how stupid it was. I'll bet every one of us has had some kind of close call with fire, or done something else without thinking that could have been disastrous.

I don't want to see the Forest Service deny Daniel a permit because he is blind, or find some "official" reason that he cannot rebuild. It don't want him to get special treatment either. There has been talk that his original permit may not have been in order, which could prevent him from rebuilding. But we all know how slow that process is and it may not be Daniel's fault that he hadn't signed a permit. Dr. Bill White, benefactor of Lizzie's Trail Inn in Sierra Madre, and Glen Owens of cabin #62 & the Big Santa Anita Historical Society, are already talking about getting funds to help him rebuild. I'd like to think they would do that for any of us, or at least for the sake of preservation. Besides, I doubt Daniel wants any charity.

I think Daniel needs to take some responsibility, though. One person said it best that he has acted like a teenager: "Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it; why'd you do it?" "I don't know". He said that he was told about other bad stove installations in The Canyon, and that they hadn't burned. That's no excuse for lighting his own. He is also being very defensive because of his blind equality cause, and that may come across as nonchalance. I think mostly he is embarassed. If Daniel is allowed to rebuild the cabin, it is my opinion that he needs to admit that blindness has its handicaps, and that special attention should be given to his needs for the safety of everyone. If he promised to take a different approach from now on, and asked for help from the cabin community, I'm sure that all of you good people would be behind him 100 percent.

As for the contractor that installed the stovepipe, it's no secret that it was Dan Ames of Sierra Madre. He's not some fly-by-night kinda guy and probably feels worse than anyone. Many of you may know him as the man who often helped Kim Kelley with the Pack Station. He rode up to Sturtevant's with her on Friday's, he patrolled your cabins when Kim's knees prevented her from doing so, he rebuilt the tack room on the barn when a horse took it out; and when Kim finally decided to erase all memory of Xoxa, and took down the sign that said We Um Attaxxum Pack Station, it was Dan that took it upon himself to put up a sign that says Adams' Pack Station. He too has a great affection for this canyon and respect for it's history.

My first feelings about rebuilding were "That's not right. Who wants a new cabin in here?" But then I thought about other cabins. Cabin #51 is only 30 years old, #99 is only 20 years old, and so much wood was replaced on #130 fifteen years ago that it is practically new. Every time I pass that sad little chimney of cabin #112 I wish it had been rebuilt after it burned down. I also considered techniques for distressing the wood prior to assembly in order to give an aged look. I am now in favor of rebuilding cabin #78 and would love for Daniel to stay here with us.

Species Rediscovered!

Steve Burns, President of the Big Santa Anita Canyon Permitees' Association, semi-professional photographer, and amatuer ichthyologist, has made an amazing discovery. While walking along the Upper Winter Creek Trail toward Chantry, he spotted a fish in Santa Oline Creek that was thought to be extinct: the Cherry-Red Trail Trout. This one is native, unlike the Orange and Lime stocked in the main canyon. Dare we suggest that there may still be a Grape left in the East Fork? One can only hope.

[(6)CO2 + (6)H20] + sunlight = [C6H12O6 + (6)O2]

If you take a tiny acorn and add enough water and sunlight, you get a mighty Oak tree. I'll admit that is terribly impressive, but you should see what happens in our corral. If you take a few flakes of alfalfa hay, add a little water and a few donkeys, you get a towering mountain of manure; and it doesn't take three hundred years to mature, either.

At the End of My Rope

Another reason the trip described below took so long is that a single donkey lolligags when he doesn't have the peer pressure to move along. Also another reason why I was so tired - from dragging Slim for eight miles. Only for a short segment of trail did he get up and go. I passed a couple on the Stock Trail enjoying the view from the ridge above cabin #94, just north of Jody's Meadow. They stepped out of the way for us to pass then proceded to follow us all the way to Fern Lodge, where I stopped to call the Pack Station. The whole time Slim was aware of them and put some giddy-up in his get-along; sometimes a little too much.

After pulling a donkey for six miles, nothing gets your heart pumping like that split second between the time you feel slack in the lead rope and the time you look around to see if he is running at you! For those of you who don't know me, I am 6'4" tall and about 265 lbs. There is not enough room on the Stock Trail for me and a donkey to be side-by-side. Slim has charged past me once, when we hit a Yellow Jacket nest, but I always hold the lead rope in the downhill hand, so he knocked me uphill. Still, it's quite scary when you feel that sudden slack in the rope or you hear a harmless stumble that sounds like a trot. If I may say so, I suppose that's one thing that makes me a good packer. I am always aware of how all five senses, and maybe a sixth, can come in handy on the trail.

A Day Off

For those of you who don't know, I had a bad car accident eight months ago. I spent two months in the hospital and my body is still recovering from three surgeries. I hate to admit it, but I still don't have my full strength and stamina back. Last week I started out tired from the holidays - it was extremely busy at the store for two weeks, dawn to dusk, on top of the usual Christmas/New Year stuff. Then I had to pack.

Tuesday, Slim and I brought lumber and other building materials down to cabin #7. Brad Bryce is repairing the shower, I mean, tool shed. Wednesday I brought propane and dog food to Bon Accord (#31) then back again Thursday with four animals full of lumber. I was dreading the trip the next day to Sturtevant's Camp.

Thursday evening Deb called to say that she was looking forward to packing and that if the Sturtevant delivery could wait 'til Saturday, she would do it. Chris Kasten said that was fine with him and I could have a break. Then it rained; and it rained pretty hard (.85") in a short time.

What was going to be an easy day of getting the store ready for the weekend turned into a major mop-up. I literally moved at least one ton of muck that had washed from the upper corral into the lower. It took twelve wheelbarrow loads of about 200 lbs. each. Moving and dumping the wheelbarrows wasn't what killed my back, it was repeatedly scooping 20 lbs. worth of soggy poop on the end of a manure fork, and swinging it up and into the wheelbarrows; by the way, we need new wheelbarrows*. I also had to buck the dead pine tree that had fallen on the barn. But hey, at least I didn't have to pack to Sturtevant's the next day.

Deb called Friday evening with the message that she should really study for the Bar Exam and rest up for the marathon she was to run on Sunday. Sue and I would have to pack. They're still uncomfortable with one person taking more than one animal on the stock trail, so since I knew Chris really didn't need the two full propane tanks we had for him, I was able to fit all of his groceries on Slim and head up alone, letting Sue of the hook. I decided I was going to take my time and enjoy a stroll through the forest with my best donkey. I had a great time but I was whooped!

As usual on the weekends I had to stop a hundred times to explain what I'm doing with a donkey, pose for photographs, teach the difference between a mule and a donkey, talk about the cabins, promote Sturtevant's Camp, chat with cabin owners.... I had called the Pack Station from the crank phone at Fern Lodge, so everyone was expecting me soon. I ran into Karen Johns of cabin #73 sitting on a rock in front of cabin #40 and watching a Great Blue Heron. Even though I was tired, I thought I should stop and exchange a few pleasantries - one hour later I was on my way.

By the time I got to Roberts' Camp it was getting late and I had about 45 minutes of light left. I figured folks were starting to worry so, naturally, LA County Sheriff's 'Copter 18 decided to waste the taxpayers' fuel over our canyon. They circled around and around as I walked from cabin #40 to Roberts' Camp. I kept expecting to see Search & Rescue, but Roberts' was empty - just me and a donkey and a helicopter. They hovered low for quite some time and I thought they were going to make the mistake of trying to land there, but suddenly they left. I thought it unlikely that Sue had called them to look for me, but I did think that she now thought a hiker had called because I had an accident or a heart attack or something. When I got up the road to the First Water bench, I heard Candace's voice calling for me. I turns out they had worried about me, but everything had gone well and the day was almost done.

Sunday, as Rich and Candace were packing for their trip, or as Candace packed and Rich watched the Patriots Play-off game, Sue and I ran the store by ourselves. All I wanted to do was sleep. Then, galloping up on his white F-150, came Eric Woodyard to save the day! He was happy to take over cooking duties while I napped. I managed to close my eyes for an hour and a half, just long enough to recharge for the rest of the day.

Today, Monday, I am mostly taking the day off. The donkeys still need to eat and poop, and I still need to gather the wood from the tree I bucked, but it is now 12:26 pm and all I've done is throw some hay out, brew coffee and type this. I will try not to work the rest of the day, maybe just type another blog entry. I guess I can alleviate a little guilt by recognizing that some people call sitting at a computer "work".

*(Boy, was I getting tired of typing "wheelbarrow"!)

Happy New Year!!

It has become a regular thing for the Stealth Bomber to fly the length of Colorado Blvd. to start off the Rose Parade. I watched them do this four years ago from Echo Mountain above Altadena. When they made the turn to fly back, they did it over "the basin". This year they obviously turned around over the mountains because the bomber and two fighter wing men flew directly over Chantry Flat! Of course you don't hear them coming and they're almost gone by the time you do hear them, so Sue didn't get a very good look and Brad missed them altogether.

Fifteen minutes later, as we were all standing in the clearing of the parking lot, they flew over again; this time lower and slower. They were headed due north toward Newcomb's Saddle so we got a good, long look at them.