Earth Matters: Well outside the draw

Crested Butte is a place where we leave our doors unlocked but lock our dumpsters. I believe this custom first developed because we all trusted each other not to steal. Furthermore, few of us had much of value to steal, but the trash company charged money to haul away refuse. It was an economic consideration.

That’s the way it used to be, at least, and if it isn’t like that now, the spirit of such trust and freedom is still alive in our attitude. If and when that confidence and expectation disappear, we will have lost an irreplaceable quality of life.

Community at the head of the draw provides benefits that compensate for isolation that at times seems stifling. Think cabin fever and social inbreeding. Think escape. Think remove from the mainstream; everything else is downstream.

That remove is an affordance of place locals enjoy and visitors envy. Still, being so distant from ordinary life in the fast lane requires adjustments. It doesn’t suit everyone. For example, I grew up in Colorado Springs about five miles from ground zero if the Soviets had nuked NORAD. Vaporization would have been instantaneous. Here in Crested Butte, it would take a while for nuclear winter to freeze me out.

That particularly nasty scenario came to mind as news of North Korea’s nuclear escalation trickled into our headwaters. Back in the day, that news would only very slowly have made its way from mainstream to upstream. North Korea might have developed and deployed its weaponry before we in Crested Butte ever even knew they had nukes. But now we know.

Kim Jung Il’s expressed intention of lobbing nukes at South Korea, Japan, Alaska and wherever else, demonstrates The Dear Leader’s inability to be a world citizen at any level. North Korea is isolated not by geography like Crested Butte, but by ideology and intention. The country’s aggressive and belligerent posture sets it apart from the rest of the world; no one really wants nuclear confrontation.

While I seriously doubt foreign policy wonks will be soliciting my opinion, I think the United States should stay well out of North Korea’s nuclear face. After all, during 1950-53 we adventured on the Korean Peninsula and it didn’t go especially well for us. The Chinese People’s Volunteer Army overwhelmed U.S. forces causing the longest American military retreat in history. North Korea withdrew from the 1953 armistice May 27, 2009.

Intent on payback this time with nukes, Korea’s bellicose intentions would only flare with United States intervention. Instead, with its newly earned world stature as Olympic host and banker to the United States of America, the People’s Republic of China should throw some of its weight at The Dear Leader. Nuclear threat or not, it is doubtful Kim Jung Il or his illustrious successor will dare the Chinese tiger. And the United States should let them do it, you know, just to the 38th Parallel.

With North Korea off the foreign policy plate, the United States could then concentrate on another distant proto-nuclear threat. Iran is neither as crazy nor as isolated as North Korea, although with Ahmadinejad calling the shots, crazy doesn’t seem too farfetched.

While North Korea neither knows nor cares what the rest of the world thinks, Iran’s culture and education, political geography and oil reserves place it at the forefront of world attention. Iran and North Korea have only nuclear aspirations and antipathy for the United States in common, but that’s probably enough.

Different beast that it is, I used to brag Iran up. I defended the country’s democratic process; just because they elected someone we don’t like is no reason to, for example, pre-emptively invade the country. I believe the people of Iran are educated and sophisticated enough to exercise and enjoy democratic rights.

Ahmadinejad believes that also, which is why we may never know true results from Iran’s recent election. Defending allegations that the vote was rigged, President Ahmadinejad has shut down the internet, cell phone access—anything that might help opposition supporters organize revolt. Riot police and hard-line Ansar-e Hezbollah militiamen (so-called “ninjas”) are fighting riots in the streets.

That is something else North Korea and Iran apparently now have in common: government by brutal dictatorship. You can take that to the dumpster and lock ‘em in.

Gravity Works: Meaning

I am fairly sure what I’m doing is basically meaningless. At the end of the day, who really cares whether I ski every month for the rest of my life or never again. Will it help me get into heaven? If I don’t, will I end up in hell? The big gravity sucker in the sky probably isn’t even paying attention…meaningless.

So far I’ve only skied nineteen months, but when—not if—I ski during June I’ll have spent twenty months with my feet in ski boots for at least a few turns. Sound hot and sweaty? Oh, yeah. That’s what exercise is all about. Besides, all that alpine touring gear is expensive, and I want to get my money’s worth.

I’m sure that after skiing for twenty months I’ll be sorely tempted to rack up four more months, two years of consistent skiing. Then in November the ski area will open, and I’ll ski another six months…and so on and on until they burn me on a pyre of old skis and spread the ashes on the West Side. How meaningless is that?

Meaningless or not, it hasn’t always been easy. Finding snow and dredging up motivation was most difficult in August, September and October. Although I kept my gear packed and ready to walk out the door, skiing was a long way from the front of my mind when summer sun baked rocks and wildflowers pushed through alpine meadows. Skiing? How meaningful can that be?

Skiing during May isn’t as easy as you might think either. After putting the gear away in April, resurrecting it a month later requires devotion to gravity-driven experience. Motivation is easier to summon than later in summer, because all the moves are still there. Muscle memory still clamors and reflexes remain honed.

And usually there is still abundant snow in the high country. Last summer we could pick and choose; my favorite ski trip was on the back side of Ruby in July. This year, though, Utah red dust caused the snowpack to melt more quickly, and sometimes creates a saturated snowpack that is avalanche dangerous and posthole difficult to ascend.

Nor does Utah red make for particularly good skiing, because the stuff is slow and catchy. Purists don’t like to ski the red because they believe skiing should take place on a pristine white interface. No question: it’s like skiing mud, but other than its higher coefficient of friction, what the hell? It is snow and it is skiing…even if I did have to hike for it.

And naturally, I loved it. Our May ski trip was a return to Schuylkill, where many years ago I broke my fibula and had to ski 1,500 feet down on a broken ankle. I’ve gotten over it, though, since Schuylkill is close-in and after wading a swollen Slate River, reasonably easy to access.

Schuylkill’s northern exposure holds snow, important because I figure if I’m going to spend the energy hiking up, I damned well want to ski all the way to the bottom. I want to minimize postholing in debris covered drifts in the trees, and I don’t want to slog through mud and willows…too much.

Two days before May transited to June, I knew if I was to ski twenty months, I’d better get my ass in gear and get up the hill. True to form, my ski stuff was packed—a little dusty from disuse— and ready at the door. We felt no urgency; given the dust-covered snowpack and relatively cool temperatures we started late, took our time and the snow held our weight.

I discovered—no surprise—that hiking up hadn’t gotten any easier over the year. Still, my resolve was solid, knowing that my rewards would be great. Carrying skis and boots was a chore, but easily preferable to hiking up in ski boots. When finally we donned boots, skis and skins, it felt good to have the boards on my feet.

And they felt even better on the way down. And that has meaning.

Earth Matters: Obligatory weather

I watch as rain—hard rain—beats the puddles outside into froth. Wind periodically flashes water against the window and surfs across the puddles. It feels Pacific-Northwest but decidedly not maritime. The end of May at 9,000 feet at the head of the draw.

Henrietta reads weather on the radio; precipitation for days but snow accumulation expected to be less than an inch. It could be worse: I remember one Memorial Day with 18 inches of fresh on the yellow daffodils. Weather-wise folks predict one thing for sure is that the weather will change. Yeah? So change it.

Actually the weather is just fine, demonstrating again how it is foolish to write about weather. I decry cold and damp because so soon after winter, I’d like sunshine in bluebird skies. Typical monsoon moisture arrived early this summer; I wonder if we should anticipate late summer drought…better to just be here now.

There is any number of reasons not to write about weather. Certainly its relevance in the greater scheme of things is suspect; farmers and climatologists pay attention while the rest of us enjoy and endure. Although we affect climate, we are at the mercy of local weather. Inter-relationships between the two are complex.

During May year before last, weather was sunny and warm encouraging spring beauties and pasque flowers. Last year, May was cold and snowy, accumulating additional inches on an already overwhelming snowpack. We thought winter might never end. This year’s rain is at least falling on mostly snow-free ground; a mosaic of green contrasts with winter’s monochrome. This isn’t so bad.

Whether we prefer rain or shine, since we can’t do anything about it, it’s not worth getting exercised over. Yet we attend weather forecasts like religion. During winter, I devour information from as many sources as I can find. I pride myself on having discovered the resources and developed the vocabulary to understand them.

“Since we can’t do anything about it,” asked a friend, “why the hell are you writing about it?”

“Politics is boring,” I answered. “It’s the same old stuff.” The economy is in the toilet, one bunch wants torture, and another bunch doesn’t. Wars rage, politicians point fingers and give lie to anything that can be called post-partisanship. What is left to say?

Weather is a relatively safe subject unless I unwisely talk about climate change and global warming. I have one friend who steadfastly insists there is no such thing as climate change. I liken him to someone who some years ago, refused to accept the spherical nature of the Earth. And he doesn’t want to hear any Chicken Little carbon footprint bullshit from me.

It is futile to proselytize someone who doesn’t want to be convinced. Science tells me our climate is changing and my human actions are accelerating it. But one person’s science is another’s smoke and mirrors. I wonder when my friend last walked where a glacier used to be…probably never.

Climate is one of those macro things we will ignore until too late, and then we will suffer. Politics might someday affect the climate, but it probably can never change the weather. I will be already recycled when polar bears are extinct, when deserts claim our continents and oceans inundate our shorelines.

Weather on the other hand, provides common ground for complaint or approbation. We can debate whether climate is changing, whether or not we cause it, whether we can adapt or fix it. But we will agree that it’s raining or sunny, or whether we’d like it to stop snowing and melt. We can disagree about climate, but not so much about weather.

Moreover, in the ski and tourism business, we qualify as farmers of snow and sunny summer climatologists. Rainy days limit enthusiasts who want to get out in it, but rain serves to melt stuff out and make plants grow. Since the snowpack melted so quickly from under its winter red dusting, rain washes and greens it up.

My weather sources tell me it might rain for a while. But in my experience, only fools and those paid big bucks attempt to predict the weather. Moreover, in a few weeks, the days start getting shorter; that is totally predictable. In the meantime, duck the showers, dodge any lightning that might threaten and try to ignore the persistent wind. Rest assured: The weather will change.

Earth Matters: It's the spin

My head is empty. The space between my ears is a void where occasionally random thoughts scatter on the edge of perception. Good stuff that, if not entirely productive. My empty head is probably a be-here-now state wherein the soul moves spontaneously through life and time. Productive is good, too, though; the cursor summons.

The cursor can have no idea how difficult it is to answer its call. We pundits had it too easy for too long, when outrage spurred the cursor across the page. Now, instead of the left-wing bitching about the right, the right-wing is bitching about the left. Maybe it’s only liberal-leaning pundits who are scrambling for something to go off on.

Thankfully, at least from one perspective, the Bush Administration is staying in the news. George W. Bush himself is keeping a fairly low profile—thank the gods—mountain biking, nurturing his two longhorn steers and practicing not stepping in it.

Instead, former vice-President Cheney is trying to salvage some kind of legacy, or maybe just come clean and hope his ass doesn’t land in the slammer. While in office, Cheney was a quiet, behind the scenes kind of guy. He was an eminence gris who with Rumsfeld, Wolfowitz, Rove and the other neo-conservative whackos, pulled George W. Bush’s strings. Previously so laconic, it seems out of character for Dick Cheney now to be spilling his guts.

But spilling—and spinning—he is. Cheney told Fox News, “I don’t think we should just roll over when the new administration…accuses us of committing torture…” Cheney credited aggressive interrogation techniques with saving potentially “hundreds of thousands of lives.”

In another interview, defending policies he helped orchestrate, Cheney said Bush authorized the “enhanced” interrogation techniques. “I think those programs were absolutely essential,” said Cheney, “to the success we enjoyed of being able to collect the intelligence that let us defeat all further attempts to launch attacks against the United States since 9/11.” He expressed “no regrets.”

Cheney also criticized President Obama, saying America is not as safe under the Obama Administration. “He is making some choices that, in my mind, will, in fact, raise the risk to the American people of another attack.”

In yet another interview, Cheney spun himself off the deep end. According to Associated Press, Cheney expressed his preference for right-wingnut radio commentator Rush Limbaugh over former Secretary of State, patriot and soldier General Colin Powell. “If I had to choose in terms of being a Republican,” said Cheney, “I’d go with Rush Limbaugh.” Yeah, well I guess that figures since having had enough of the mendacious Bush-Cheney cabal, and after having essentially destroyed his career, Powell washed his hands of the whole mess.

For his part, Rush Limbaugh is in the position of having a wealth of material with which to rail against Barack Obama. Obama personally affronts Rush Limbaugh, the same way George Bush got under my skin. I know how Limbaugh feels; it’s scary.

Limbaugh wants Obama to fail, and it doesn’t matter whether Obama actually fixes anything or not. The means, according to Limbaugh, justifies no end. “I hope Obama fails,” said Limbaugh. “Somebody’s gotta say it… Why in the world do we want to saddle [our kids] with more liberalism and socialism? Why would I want to do that? So I can answer in four words, ‘I hope he fails’.”

Grasping hopelessly at a failed past, and for reasons I can’t begin to fathom, Dick Cheney and his minions are looking to the likes of Rush Limbaugh for leadership. Nothing could better demonstrate the failure of the Republican Party to find its ass with both hands. Spinning Obama to the dark side is a sorry effort to refute the determination of American voters.

For my part, I don’t want Obama to fail at fixing the world economy, restoring tenets of our Constitution and re-establishing moral high ground so readily abandoned by Bush and the rest. Furthermore, it is difficult to dislike a man whose own self-deprecating humor can defuse or enlighten a situation.

Still, I’m working to develop a sixth sense, a highly-refined and sophisticated bullshit meter, a functional sensory perception to filter information. It is important to occasionally calibrate my spin meter with the truth, whatever that is and wherever it might be found. The effort should keep my head full and not empty, which may be productive…or not.

Earth Matters: Wipe your nose

No question: more people are sick of it than are sick with it. This isn’t our first big rodeo, after all, so how can a flu virus throw us into such a tizzy? But a tizzy we are in, mass hysteria fueled by a news media intent on keeping us healthy, informed and on the edge of our seats. At the end of the day, though, the barrage of scare-mongering is better than not knowing.

People weren’t as well-informed back in 1918 when another flu virus spread throughout the world, to the Arctic, to remote islands…everywhere. The so-called Spanish Flu pandemic lasted two years, infecting more than half the world population and killing as many as 100 million people.

The Center for Disease Control (CDC) calls the 1918 influenza “the mother of all pandemics.” Almost all flu viruses since that bug got loose are descendants of the 1918 virus. In 1918, health care workers were too ill to tend the sick and grave-diggers too far gone to bury the dead.

So what’s the difference between epi-demic and pan-demic? Epi- means almost all; pan- means all. An epidemic spreads rapidly and extensively affecting many individuals in an area or population at the same time. A pandemic is a widespread epidemic over a great geographic area, affecting a large proportion of the population. A human pandemic in our global village could conceivably touch practically everyone.

Although we didn’t have television to rub it in back in 1918, we were scared. Rather than providing too much information like we have now, the government downplayed the influenza, spinning the country into confronting World War I cannons instead of the flu. Disinformation: some things never change.

Viruses do change, however, and the 1918 flu virus finally mutated into a less virulent and deadly beast. People stopped dying, got well and went about their business. And in the frenzy of world war, we the public forgot the whole thing. The CDC didn’t forget, though, and estimates about 36,000 U.S. deaths each year from flu.

We started paying attention again in the late 1990s when avian flu spread into our human population. Bird flu is a different breed of slime than our current swine flu. Instead of spawning in pigs it occurs in wild birds and can spread quickly to domestic fowl. In 2005, bird flu hit five states, Asia, Europe and Canada.

After bird flu, for the first time in modern history, we began to understand how easily seasonal flu outbreaks could evolve into epidemics. On our constantly shrinking planet, we could conceive of a pandemic, an unknown viral messenger carrying doom on international flights throughout the world. Scary stuff, that.

And in April when swine flu suddenly swept out of Mexico after killing scores of people, I admit: it scared hell out of me. Several circumstances contributed to my paranoia. This was the first time I had watched a pandemic spread on television, itself a viral medium. Watching people in masks was sobering.

Furthermore, the bug was an unknown strain of virus, something new that we couldn’t identify and for which we had no silver bullet flu shot. Lastly, this flu was killing people, not in Asia or some far-flung cauldron of contagion. Instead, people were dying right here in North America, just south of the border…too close for comfort.

Perhaps paranoia is too strong a word; after all, paranoids catch the flu too. So I am one of those who washes his hands until they chap. I don’t sign with public pens, I sanitize the grocery cart, I don’t use handrails and I touch doorknobs only with my outside fingers. As a result, I don’t get sick too often. Yeah, I know…I’ve been called that before.

Maybe I watch too much scare-television or maybe I read too many “outbreak” novels. Maybe it’s because up here at the head of the draw we aren’t continuously exposed to nasty viruses. And maybe it’s because I feel too readily the global nature of our modern lives; one minute you’re in Mexico City, eight hours later you’re anywhere in the world.

Undoubtedly, a nightmare pandemic will happen because historically influenza pandemics of varying severity occur at 20-40 year intervals. In 2004, one World Health Organization director described an influenza pandemic as “inevitable.” Don’t worry, though, and don’t be scared because that might weaken your immune system. But don’t cough, don’t sneeze and wipe your nose. Then go wash your hands.

Earth Matters: Payback

I had just been caught at the unspeakable, and we won’t speak of it at any length here. My father labeled my behavior unspeakable, a not unexpected departure from my teenaged business as usual. We often landed on different sides of the fence; no surprise there.


I knew I was in it hip-deep in front of the fan, though, and stood ready to withstand my father’s wrath. I was still a minor and recognized his ultimate parental authority over me…just barely. I settled back in a chair anticipating all kinds of black scenarios, but he surprised me.


“I do not approve of what you do,” he said, “but I am not going to judge you. I will leave that to a greater judge than me.”


My first thought was surprise that my lawyer father wouldn’t act the judge. My second thought was that my father’s religious faith must be substantial and his love for me great. Furthermore, if he wasn’t going to judge me, then he might not exact punishment. Whew! What a load off. My surprise was piqued because I had thought my father unerringly of the spare-the-rod-spoil-the-child persuasion.


Since I was often on the receiving end of punitive response, I grew with the perception that punishment should at very least be carefully tailored to the infraction. I figured the Catholics might have it pegged with mortal and venal sin. Mortal wrongs were really bad and mandated severe punishment. Venal stuff, on the other hand, was perhaps not so morally bankrupt, but instead the consequence of failings hardwired into human nature. And after all, I was nothing if not human. I still am.


I also remember one of my first high school research papers, a study of capital punishment. I barely understood what I was researching at the time, which makes it even more improbable that I should remember it all these years later.


The gist: Does capital crime like homicide warrant the death penalty? After weighing conventional wisdom on the matter, I came down somewhere in the middle, conflicted and ambivalent, but convinced for whatever reasons that bad actions can expect to be met with severe retribution. That realization kept me out of trouble…well, most of the time anyway. Yet the threat of retribution didn’t deter others from wrongdoing.


Without calling it either venal or mortal, in 1974 President Gerald Ford pardoned former President Richard Nixon. Nixon served as my first serious political whipping boy during those Vietnam days, and his blatant disregard for law during Watergate further incensed me. I was outraged that with the stroke of a presidential pen, Nixon would walk; he would escape punishment for breaking the law.


Years later, and on a different political tack altogether, President Bill Clinton got into all kinds of trouble. The payback was a partisan effort to exact retribution on Clinton for his dalliance, appropriate if only because a president should exercise propriety. But after all, what Clinton did wasn’t murder. No one died. Clinton’s impeachment lasted months and cost taxpayers millions. What did it accomplish? Not a hell of a lot.


So have you guessed where all this is leading? Yup, when we’re talking presidential malfeasance, all roads lead to George W. Bush.


The Justice Department recently released Bush Administration memos declaring interrogation of “high-value” detainees outside proscriptions of domestic law and the Geneva Conventions. The memos claim Bush had the authority to approve any technique needed to protect the nation’s security. Defense Secretary Rumsfeld outlined twenty-four interrogation techniques to be used, among them “walling,” waterboarding, sleep deprivation and slapping.


Over objections from human rights groups and even members of his own administration, President Obama at first said he would absolve CIA officers from prosecution for using torture. He wants to move beyond, “a dark and painful chapter in our history.” Then he equivocated, laying it on the Justice Department or whatever; the saga continues.


Like before, I am ambivalent. The excuse, “just following orders” seems less and less exculpatory, but that’s what military service is. The buck must stop up the chain of command, at the highest office that issued the order. Then go after that guy and make the punishment appropriate to the offense. The Bush-Cheney-Rumsfeld cabal—someone in that hierarchy must answer. Taking those guys down, though, will require a greater judge than me…or maybe not.

Earth Matters: Obligatory green article

“You sold out,” accused my friend, a critic but friend nonetheless.

“I did no such thing,” I answered indignantly.

“What?” she asked. “Are these trees here different than those over there? How can you defend one bunch and not another?”

“I’ve re-evaluated my footprint,” I said. “I’m choosing my battles. I only have so much fight left in me, and I need to concentrate my energy where I think it’ll do the most good.”

I considered that a pretty good answer. It still sounded reactive and defensive, though. I call myself a treehugger and don’t like it when respected colleagues get in my face. Fifteen years ago I’d have been the critic. No one said it would be easy.

Easy or not, the wheel has turned from brown cloud to the vigorous green of awareness under the Obama Administration. The pendulum swings. Nor does it hurt that Earth Day morphed into Earth Week; only one week to be green. Suddenly—we are so psyched—everybody and everything is green.

This isn’t a bad thing. It is backlash from previous environmental wreckage. It could facilitate a return to sensible and scientific policy decision-making. What a concept. It is ironic though, to witness the turnaround from just a few years ago, when it was cool to be as greedy as we wanted to be, with little regard for the world in general. George Bush gave us that.

While enjoying our born-again green awareness, though, we must beware what we used to call “greenwashing.” Now we call it business as usual, whether green or not. Greenwashing is corporate and political slathering of a thin layer of green paint over the egregious brown cloud. It isn’t deep and authentic green; instead it is spin orchestrated to make the consuming public believe it’s all good. We’re on the path to environmental consciousness and a sustainable future. It’s a feel good thing, isn’t it?

True to my belief that balanced attention to television is a good barometer of popular opinion and conventional wisdom, green pixels flood from the glowing box. Green commercials are legion. Green products abound, whether or not their net impact on the planet is negative or positive. Green in the cash box is what counts.

On the internet I found green mortgages, green lenders, green politicians, green action funds, green learning sites and no lack of green spending sites. I visited MSN’s Lifestyle site where they encouraged me to “get my green on.” They invited me to tour ten coastal eco-resorts, and thoughtfully provided an Earth Day shopping guide. At Twitter I can join Generation Green to receive tips and tricks on how I can take action to protect my planet.

FOX News tells me sternly: “Green it. Mean it.” FOX wants to partner with me, “to help take simple steps that will help deliver a better planet to the next generation.” That makes me all tingly. These are the guys that bring us Bill O’Reilly, Sean Hannity and Greta Van Susteren. Green me up, Scottie!

NBC Nightly News featured an Earth Week series on the planet’s oceans: how we are filling them with trash and killing coral reefs. Part of the series described the crash of world fisheries by pollution or over-fishing. NBC neglected to mention a story reported a few months previously about Alaska’s proposed Pebble Mine and its threat to the Bristol Bay salmon fishery. Bristol Bay is one of the North Pacific’s most important fisheries. How green is that?

Green may be with us for a while. We will either figure out how to minimize our footprint or not. If not, we’ll keep pretending we are. Individual personal choices may yet be the best way to be green; those choices might mean not buying the green product, not buying anything at all.

I remarked on a friend’s new mid-sized pickup truck. Formerly she drove a big F-350.

“It’s my husband’s way of conserving,” she told me, “but I still have the other truck.”