Weekend Travels Revisited - May 14, '01

Now Mike, I have no intention of rising to the bait of your testosterone driven cast. No, I do not believe that I brachiate, never have, never intend to. You have truly stumped me and my webster's - I only know the word as an inappropriate adjective from botany - I concede. 

Now, if your brassard and associated coat are still intact, I would like to assure you that no one will ever confuse our relative sanities or other traits in any measurable way. As an example, the other day I was discussing the Durango to Silverton railroad with a co-worker. He was telling me that the train stops out in the middle of nowhere to let out Botanists who then trek over to one of those high altitude institutes that are scattered around the state. I mentioned that you and your bride were considering a similar training hopping expedition in order to scale one of the nearby 14K summits. Then I reflected that I am trying to condition my leathery carcass for an assault on the Grand Canyon. That dichotomy perfectly describes the order of our lives. Hopefully it will not continue into the great here-after, but just in case, by surviving summer after summer in Phoenix - I'm ready.

There are no new pictures this week. One of my technicians did not report to his shift at midnight on Friday. I had to cover his shift. That meant that I slept Saturday rather than Friday night, which meant that I did my Saturday yard work on Sunday rather than taking my weekly trek. Monday, I had to go to work, so the trek got dropped - everyone with me on this?

On the brighter side, there were only a couple of derisive comments like Mike's hurled at last week's commentary - they will be ignored. My story ended last week with our intrepid trekker stranded in a tree; only one of you was curious enough to inquire as to how I managed to descend intact.

 Surveying my impending demise as I sat there about 20 feet above the ground, I noticed a branch from the tree which arched up, over and then down, ending at about the level of my feet. At my level, it's circumference was about half of the thickness of my wrist. I calculated that the branch could be used as a bungee cord to arrest my rocketing acceleration towards the ground if I fell and it probably would not break until I was just a few feet above the surface. There was nothing left to do but to grab the branch and step into the void. I did. An elevator has never been smoother - a perfect, soft, two-point landing! The camera was safe.

My inquisitive, well intentioned, co-working friend suggested that if I am going to be climbing around in trees, I probably should carry a rope. Now there are a couple of things in life that you simply ought not do - do not give children matches to play with; do not give old folks ropes for any purpose. I wanted to climb the tree, not hang myself. Another jackal opined that she wished she had been there with her video-cam. I reminded her that my treks are like bedrooms - greatly over-rated and no video equipment is allowed! (Exceptions apparently made for a certain sister-in-law.)

Oh yeah, the name of the bird, it is Bob Meinhart's Greater Blue Heron. Actually, I doubt that it is Bob's personally, but he was the first and only one to give it a name, sight unseen I might add.

Perhaps next weekend will bring more fruitful results.

Lov from the wilds of Phoenix,
Bungee-man and Sharon