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blizzard warnings - 13:52 , 03 October 2013 heelerless - 21:32 , 18 August 2013 Red Coat Inn in Fort McLeod - 11:38 , 23 June 2013 rushing into the waters - 09:53 , 21 June 2013 choosing a spot - 17:43 , 27 April 2013 |
quirks
There were eight of us there, sitting in a spacious meeting room, surrounded by easels holding over-sized charts, photos and maps. Two others of the group were out front in the lobby, having their own conversation.
Me, having spent the day trying to capture a wayward sheep and checking some Colorado fishermen with a wonderful tailgate of trout (all legal, as far as we could tell), only had to spend an hour of the evening in this meeting room. But the others, well, they'd been here since four that afternoon. With only two members of the public coming by to discuss the projects we've got proposed. Hours ago.
Over the next ten years, if all goes according to plan, we will scorch major portions of two nearby mountain ranges. My favorite mountain ranges. I'm not even too sure I want to see all the changes that will come about on those mountains, and in those forests, for all we want to burn. Yet only two citizens stopped by to discuss the matter.
Six of the federal folks had ordered pizzas for dinner. They semi-jokingly suggested the pizza delivery guy be required to sign the sign-in list in order to get his tip.
It would boost public attendance by 50 percent.
One fellow, sitting on my left, pointed out the DVD player in the corner, set up to play video footage of the proposed burn sites for any curious public. "If I'd known it was gonna be this slow, I'd have brought some DVDs from home," he said. Then added, "'Course all we have are all the Barbie movies, and My Little Pony." With his two young daughters, he lamented he now knew all those programs by heart.
"Wait 'til your boy gets older," came comfort from across the table. "Then you'll get to watch Transformers and Ninja Turtles."
"I don't know," he answered wistfully, "he doesn't seem to care much about TV."
"Well, of course not! All it plays is Barbie and My Little Pony!" came the retort.
As the ewe hunters came back from their final, unsuccessful pursuit of number 312 on her rockpile, I noticed the fellow carrying the tracking gear was being unusually careful where he put his feet.
It's still too cold out, I explained. You won't have to worry about rattlers until May.
He looked relieved, but only sorta. I have found his oft-iterated fear of rattlesnakes a little peculiar. You see, the rest of the year, he spends all his time trapping and handling grizzly bears. And camping and hiking in grizzly bear country. His Facebook profile picture shows him kneeling next to a huge, tranquilized grizz.
And mind you, those drugs don't put the bears to sleep. They're fully awake through the entire handling, collaring, blood sampling, and anal probing procedures. They just can't coordinate their brain with their muscles. But paws still swipe, and jaws still bite.
You have to be careful.
And this fellow is afraid of our little buzz worms.
Two of the other fellows helping with the ewe hunt have also served on the bear crews, and quickly relate a tale about this sheep-tracking fellow "screaming like a girl" when he found a spider crawling up his arm as they approached a trapped grizzly.
Apparently his screams upset the bear.
Then they all three happily related a story about another of their crew, who stepped out of the shower to find a mouse in his underwear drawer. And, "screaming like a girl", jumped naked onto the bed and stayed there until others had herded the fierce little beasty out of the room.
As the wife said, as I relayed these stories to her, "Maybe they should just tell him to pretend the mouse is an itty-bitty bear."