January 30, 2007

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.

January 15, 2007

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.

January 8, 2007

[(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"!)

January 1, 2007

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.