Camp And Sail Part 4: Neither Boats Nor Curmudgeons Are Made To Stay In The Harbor

Note: I started today’s post with a photo of an gopher from this trip. That reminded me of a gopher story from a scamp/sail trip last year. Here’s a quote:

“Try it ya’ little bastard.” I hissed.

He didn’t back down. So that’s how it was going to be! I don’t take crap from humans and I sure as hell don’t take it from animals… I’ll throw down with a fuckin’ gopher if necessary.

This gopher joined me for breakfast and seemed happy to hang around while I read books. He had no fear of people at all.

OK, that’s enough gopher content for today. We return you now to your regularly scheduled post…


I’d heeded the demands of my aching wrist and battered joints. I’d wisely parked in a lawn chair and commenced to expending time. This would heal body (and also mind). I’ve nothing to prove to anyone so I would sit there and read from the library of paperbacks I’d bought.

“Sail?” Called my little boat, still strapped to my battered utility trailer.

“Sorry, Mr. Curmudgeon is taking a break.” I explained.

“Sail.” The little boat looked so cute on the trailer. Wrought of my hand and as practical as any sailboat that size, it wanted to get wet like an otter in the desert.

“Gonna’ read.” I grunted.

“Sail!” The boat implored.

I ignored it. Then the wind shifted. Just a mild breeze. Barely enough to fill a sail… but enough. I could smell the lake only ½ mile away. The scent drilled into my mind. So many happy memories. A lifetime of canoes, and campsites, and fish, and now my trusty little boat. I’m a lucky man. I smelled all that on the wind.

I put down my book, popped an ibuprofen, and started limbering up.

“Sail?” Asked the boat.

“Yep, lets go.”


Nobody made me do a damn thing but I’d been compelled by my own wanderlust. Ten minutes later I was at the more or less empty boat ramp. I haven’t sailed in a while and it took me a while to sort the rigging. Boom, mast, haulyard, mainsheet, etc… There’s a lot of knowledge wrapped in even the smallest sailing craft.

There was one guy at the ramp pulling out an aluminum fishing boat. I glanced in case he needed a hand but his wife was guiding him and they had an easy way of working together that indicated they had their shit together. When a husband and wife can launch or retrieve a boat working as a team; that’s a solid marriage.

Soon he was up at the parking area where I was still sorting lines. His boat had an antique Evinrude motor that sparked my fancy.

My boat caught his eye too. It was probably the only sailing craft to hit this lake all year. One thing I learned about boats is that whole eras’ and generations’ and encyclopedias’ worth of knowledge went out the window when piston driven outboard motors came into being. People sense that. They can tell something is lost. A home-built sailing craft was once mundane. Now it’s as uncommon as 35mm photography. The normal thing, now long replaced, still hints at its own magic.

We chatted about boats. Him about his motor rebuild project and I about my homemade plywood craft. His wife had disappeared. She was filleting fish.

“Your wife fillets the fish?” I was impressed.

“Yep, I’m not a big fan of fish dinners.” He didn’t see my awe.

“Any woman who’ll fillet a fish is a keeper.” I offered.

He grinned like a man who’d just been reminded how lucky he was.


I was nervous as hell. I’m always nervous when I sail. I’m not sure why but it’s a true thing. My sailboat has no motor. Once you put it on the water, it has a vote in all that happens afterwards. Just as a motorcycle is not a horse, a motorboat is not a sailboat. There’s a difference between flowing with the wind and using gas power to simply force a thing to happen. I was about to head out on a lake solo. I would have not the slightest hint of backup. (Not that I ever do.) There’s just so many things that can go wrong.

But the rigging was just about done and there was no point in procrastination. I hoisted the sail in the parking lot and it sure looked grand! I checked and rechecked everything. The guy’s wife showed up with a plate of fillets. She loved the brave little sailboat she found there.

It is nice to have help at launch and both of them eagerly offered to assist. All they did was hold the bow line while I drove my long suffering utility trailer into the lake to float the boat. With a tug it floated free and the fellow held the line while I parked the truck. (As an aside: if I were a truck company that wanted to encourage people to beat the hell out trucks so I could sell replacements… I’d give away boats. Even the tiniest boat ramp into a remote forested lake is the best chance you’ll get to trash your truck. It’s never happened to me but I’m keenly aware of the possibilities.)

I came jogging back and gingerly hopped in the little craft. The husband gave a mighty shove while the wife beamed. The wind had died and I drifted stupidly some 20 yards beyond the dock. I fretted over the daggerboard and mainsheet and spun in helpless circles. So much for departing with class.

Then the tiniest breath of wind…

…that’s the part that’s magic.

My boat only needs a small breeze to begin moving. Once it’s moving, even if it’s slowly, it’s a controllable craft; graceful even. It went from stupid plywood block to perky little craft. I shifted, adjusted the sail, and swished out onto the lake at the speed of brisk striding.

The nice couple waved to me from the dock and left. I’ll probably never see them again.

I scanned the lake from horizon to horizon. No boats of any sort. Nobody on shore. I was the only one there.

There’s more to come…

Posted in Fall_2022, Travelogues, Walkabout | 4 Comments

Camp And Sail Part 3: Breakfast Of Champions / Lesbian Squirrels

I was at a generic National Forest Campsite. I wanted to “dispersed camp” which usually has me absolutely alone. But had wisely lowered my ambitions when the pack-up and drive out phase of the trip had gone into extra innings.

At camp, people did as people always do and got up before me. Humans are herd animals. I could hear them warbling to each other and clattering about. It sounded like a thousand morons all trying to fold wet tents at once… which is basically what it was. Somewhere a cranky infant cried as it was hustled out of bed and packed into a car.

I got up and looked outside. It was foggy. There was drizzle and intermittent little showers. It was maybe 40 degrees (I didn’t bring a thermometer). Everything was soaked with dew or rain. Even inside my tent there was a certain degree of condensation on the walls. Anyone trying to make breakfast in this slop would be soaked in minutes. People around me were trying to shake off tents and stuff them in cars… they’d almost certainly have to dry out their gear in their respective garages that evening.

I was mildly hungover. Fuck this! I pissed on a bush and went back into my tent.

The clammy refrigerator feel was not at all to my liking. I felt worn out and my joints ached. I decided to light a fire in my little stove. I’d never used the stove in temperatures above 20. I was worried it would roast me out.

There’s a bit of a learning curve to use the stove. Don’t get me wrong, the stove is amazing! Great quality, superb design, but using it is a skill that takes practice (just like any other task). For one thing, the stove’s front opening is like 10” high. That seems hardly noticeable when you’re playing around with new gear but let me tell you, when you’re hung over in a foggy cold morning you don’t want to be shoving your head down near the wet grass. (I had removed the tent’s zip out floor.)

I stuffed pallet wood into the firebox. I lit it in a half assed way but it didn’t catch. No way was I going to roam around the campground looking for kindling; pine needles or whatever. I might meet people. I was in no condition to make eye contact with wet shitheads who made noise to wake me up. Instead, I threw in a handful of potato chips.

That did it! She caught and soon there was a merry fire. The draft was excellent. I throttled it down and fiddled with the tent’s windows. How much to open and how much to close? I had no idea. Meanwhile fellow campers continued to make sounds that reminded me of a penguin rookery. I opened both little windows partially to vent (but still screened in case any mosquitoes were still alive). Then I opened ¼ of one door but left the camouflage privacy screen in place. No innocent camper needs to see some drunk woodsman’s junk! (Side note: the UP2 tent has screen that’ll stop the smallest bug but it’s also camouflage and designed so you can’t see the person inside. I’d guess you’d call that “privacy camouflage”? I’ve never had a tent with that feature. It’s just one a thousand nice details.)

Privacy camouflage screen.

I fretted. Would I roast out or would I…. Zzzzzzzzz

Almost in mid sentence I was out cold. Sleeping like a baby. I was warm and toasty like I was being baked in fresh bread.

I was out for hours. By the time I was fully awake it was nearly 10 am! Now that had been a good snooze!

It had been good timing too. The skies had cleared, the fog had dissipated, the drizzle had quit, and the tent was bone dry inside and out. Even more importantly, 80% of the campers who’d annoyed me at dawn were gone. What’s with that? Why do people struggle to find time to go camping only to break camp at dawn in the rain?

Not my circus, not my monkeys.


I percolated coffee and took some Tylenol. Hopefully it would help with the sore wrist. I’d greatly exacerbated it over the previous day and then layered it with the subtle flavors of a mild hangover.

I tossed bacon and eggs on the picnic table and dug through my canned goods. I found a can of “tomatoes ready for chili”. No idea what that was. I assumed it would go with eggs. I also found an onion which, inexplicably, I’d put in the cooler.

God loves us and the reason I know this is that my breakfast was amazing. The tomatoes had some spicy stuff in them (probably red chilies?) that made my eggs soar! I started with bacon first, to grease my little iron skillet. Then I poured most (but not all) of the grease on the fire. Time to be happy I wasn’t quite in grizzly country. (There are black bears in the area but they’re avidly hunted. Also every redneck in the county is armed to the teeth. Thus, the bears behave with all due decorum. There’s a lesson in that.)

In the bacon grease I sautéed some diced onion, then I added tomatoes, then a bit later I added the eggs. I’d have added the bacon which I’d cooked to perfection. But I’d already gobbled the bacon down while cooking the eggs. No regrets, it was delicious! Between the percolated coffee, the perfect bacon, and the ideal egg concoction I wound up feeling like a king. It was the best meal I’ve had in weeks!


The winds were calm (too calm for sailing) and my wrist wasn’t happy. Plus I was just generally beat. Rigging the boat is work and sailing it is both mental strain and physical effort. I’d brought paperbacks to read and a screen tent (unnecessary since it turns out the mosquitoes have been mostly froze out). Maybe just read?

In the end I was simply too inspired by my surroundings and tasty breakfast. I brought out my little Alphasmart NEO and typed some more of Attack of the Lesbian Activist Squirrels. And you thought I wasn’t thinking of y’all?

Pending review and maybe some finishing touches I think the next chapter might have just come together! Could anything be more appropriate than fiction typed by a hungover guy sipping coffee at a picnic table?

Stay tuned…

Posted in Fall_2022, Travelogues, Walkabout | 16 Comments

Camp And Sail Part 2: Keep Not Quitting

Having burned a week’s pay before my first cup of coffee, I grabbed my tent and headed for the truck. I was immediately crushed. There was ¼ ton of shingles in the truck bed! Shit!

Bad wrist or not I had no solution but to empty the truck. It didn’t take long but wore me out something fierce. Then I loaded the truck with my heavy Russian Bear Market UP2 tent and the accompanying woodstove and all sorts of stuff that’s overkill for mild autumn weather.

Not a backpacking tent.

Screen tent and oars for scale. (I didn’t need the screen tent. The mosquitoes are mostly dead.)

It seemed like a whole lot of gear but there’s a method to my madness. I like to test things before it matters. Especially because a complex tent that could burn down with me in it has a bigger learning curve than my simple summer tent.

Not only that but bringing a sailboat entails a whole different level of “gotta’ have it” equipment. The boat has a million little components. Forgetting any one of them will kibosh the whole attempt. Life vest, oars, detachable rudder, etc… I racked my brains trying to remember all the stuff I’d need.

I almost forgot the mast! It had been sitting on hangers in my shop all year just patiently collecting dust. (As an aside, the mast is one of the things I’ve built of which I’m most proud. If you’re the sort who pines to build a boat… begin today. It’ll be one of the best things you’ve ever done.)

Mast lashed to cargo rack.

The sail, yard, and boom are all wrapped up and stuffed in a sewer pipe I mounted to the truck roof. I hadn’t opened that pipe in a year! For all I know there’s a dead rotten mouse in there that ate half the sail before it died. Rather than open it and inspect it and risk crushing disappointment, I just trusted that I’d made the sewer pipe carrier very well and left it closed.

Having loaded everything in the truck bed, I hitched my trailer to carry the boat and…. SHIT!

The trailer was filled with crap shingles from the roof project. Before my wrist gave out I’d removed a couple hundred pounds of old shingles and dumped them in the trailer!


Ok Curmudgeon, you can deal with this. Just be patient and get ‘er done…

Also, one of the magnetic trailer tail lights was nuked because of course it was. I apparently dropped a load of old shingles on it. So I drove to the dump planning for only left turns and hoping the cops wouldn’t give me shit. I emptied the trailer

Then I swung by where I get my pallet wood for free. (I’ve been bringing nail free “processed” pallet wood on campouts and it’s a genius solution.) They’d “cleaned house” by burning it all up. The horror!

Then I stopped at a NAPA for magnetic lights. $91 for magnetic lights? Fuck them!

By now I was getting a teeny tiny bit frustrated. “Fuck everything,” I seethed, “I wanna’ get out of here!”

Back home I still had to flip the boat myself… alone… with a sore wrist.

It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t fast but I did it. It was one of those “easy for two guys, physics conundrum for one strapping young lad, damn near impossible puzzle for a one winged injured geezer” problems.

Halfway there…

It doesn’t look bad for it’s age and sitting outdoors and uncovered all winter.

It took almost two hours to get the boat’s cradle into the utility trailer, the mast lashed to the truck roof, the boat flipped over, moved to the trailer, slid onto the cradle, and strapped down (the old straps are pretty shot). I arranged the defunct lights as if they worked. (I was hoping for plausible deniability; “Gosh officer it worked when I left my house.”)

I grabbed what’s left of my palette wood and rolled out. I decided to camp somewhere simple. No “adventurous” dispersed camping after the day I’d been having!

En route to the campsite (it was a long drive!), I bought new straps and new lights and a toolbag to hold them. All three added up to less than $91!

I also picked up a bottle of liquor. I didn’t care how much it cost, I damn well had earned it.

I didn’t bother installing any of the lights or straps, I just put the parts in my truck. “Gosh officer, I just bought new lights and plan to install them once I get to camp.” (Which would be true, in case it actually matters.)

I had brought a 99% empty cooler (The cooler had one packet of home raised bacon and an onion. Nothing more!) Amid my gear I’d brought some random canned goods, my “don’t leave home without it” supply of coffee, and a few dehydrated meals.

I stopped at a grocery store for fresh provisions. I had a revelation… people buy meat. I almost exclusively eat that I raise or hunt. I sometimes forget the simple obvious solution of buying meat. I wanted something simple and tasty so I picked up $15 worth of beef kabobs. (The price per pound about floored me. I don’t get out much and inflation never sleeps!)

I also grabbed some eggs, a bag of ice, and a pack of cookies. I didn’t have any specific plans but I had enough components to “wing it”.

I really wanted to stop at McDonalds. I was starving. But it was getting late. There was no time left if I wanted to get to camp in time. I’d been loading shit into and out of my truck for hours!

I ate potato chips and drove. Driving wasn’t helping my sore wrist but what are ya’ gonna’ do? I got to camp before the sun set… barely.

In a rush lest I lose all remaining light, I erected my tent. I even installed the wood stove (unnecessary but one needs to practice these things).

In case you’re a camper too I’ll offer handy details; I’d setup possibly one of the most bad ass tents in creation; a Russian Bear Market UP2 with the Caminus M woodstove.

Warning: These are not normal tents! Russian Bear Market doesn’t sell “weekend at the park” equipment and it doesn’t charge Walmart prices. Don’t even think of clicking on the link unless you’re prepared to see prices that will bend your understanding of space and time. Add that to the price disturbances of yet another dipshit land war in the area that (fortunately) froze out both Napoleon and Hitler’s plans for world domination. Then layer in the inflation of the Bidenverse. Eventually you’re looking at numbers that will break your heart and kick your soul in the nuts. Also, this gear is massive overkill for a “normal” person. If you’re the sort of guy who wouldn’t rule out hunting polar bears while camping solo on an ice floe in Greenland… well then click away. If you think you’re tough because you wear REI hiking socks to the mall, steer clear!

This is a badass tent. Overkill compared to regular equipment; perfect for my plans.

The UP2 setup is not the sub 15 minute brilliance my summertime system but it’s impressively fast; especially considering I wasn’t so much setting up a tent than deploying a fabric fortress. I think I took 45 minutes in total (counting the stove and chimney). I could probably shave that down to half an hour with a little practice; maybe even faster.


Having finished the tent, stove, cot, bedding, and other details, I tossed some pallet wood into my trusty folding stove (outside and not in the tent!) and lit a match. I poured a cup of liquor, sipped it, and took a deep breath…

The world was new again.

I’d made it!

I’d persevered until the mundane world gave up fucking with me. I could almost hear my soul breathing a sigh of relief.

I lit my lantern and let the fire die down as the sun set. I sat in a little circle of light in the vast dark forest. I’d attained a moment where no other concerns were pressing on me. I was at peace. (*Note, while my tent is astronomically expensive and may go higher. Meanwhile, the lantern I bought this spring has gone down in price. Go figure.)

The kebabs were delicious. I cooked them on my grill with almost no effort. I ate in the dark and began to recover. I’d brought enough kebabs for two nights but ate them both right away.

I’d made is. I kept thinking how grateful I was to be there. Escape velocity had been attained. How lucky I am that I didn’t give up.

I didn’t light the fire in the tent’s woodstove. It wasn’t necessary. I kept drinking bourbon and eating steak until the moon rose. Then, perhaps a bit tipsy, I crashed on my cot. It doesn’t necessarily make sense that you’ve got to drive far away from your house and sit in a lawn chair next to a fabric shelter to attain peace… but that doesn’t make it less true.

Stay tuned…

A moment of peace.

Posted in Fall_2022, Travelogues, Walkabout | 5 Comments

Camp And Sail Part 1: Don’t Quit

Absolutely everything went wrong. Cascading stupid shit hounded me for several weeks. I was (almost comically) derailed at every juncture. I soldiered on. Eventually, it all worked out.

Is there no better summation of life?

A couple weeks ago I was all set to go camping… and then didn’t. Everything went pear shaped. The dog had a minor medical issue, the roof had a leak, one of my vehicles had a breakdown, and I inflicted a minor injury on my wrist. The universe just wasn’t going to let it happen. My plans were solidly curbstomped.

The good news is I found a roofer guy to fix my roof. I’ve been calling all over creation for years. Nobody works anymore. Shortly after my roof leaked (turning things from “gotta’ be done eventually” to “urgent”) someone called back! He came to my house and helped me nail a tarp over the leaking roof. (Classy!)

I was given instructions to buy what seems like too much materials and he left. (It’s only a small area. I think he over-estimated materials but what do I know?) Over the weekend, in lieu of camping, I made the purchase. The guy was going to come by sometime in the upcoming week so I had to hurry! I left the shingles in my truck.

While I cooled my jets waiting for the roofer guy I attacked another long delayed project. My boat has been languishing on sawhorses since Memorial Day! I put a shade tarp over the boat and used the minimally sheltered area to slather a coat of oil based topside paint on the hull. My injured wrist complained but I solved the situation through denial and ibuprofen. The coat of paint (including the many thistles and bugs that got stuck in the paint) should help keep her safe from the creeping decay that takes out so many plywood creations.

I only did the bottom of the hull. I figured when the guy came to fix the roof later in the week I’d ask him to help me flip the boat. Then I’d do the rest.

Dude ghosted me!

I decided to go camping/sailing on the next weekend even if the boat was only half ready. The roof was under a tarp and that was “good enough”. More importantly there wasn’t much I could do about it. Also, I needed some outdoor time. I hadn’t been sleeping well and needed headspace.

There’s a nip in the air and summer is fleeting. I would only get a few more chances before sailing season was gone. Mindful of the upcoming snow, I decided to test some winter stuff when it’s “that’s nice to have” rather than “fuck up and you freeze” weather.

As an aside, I live in the north and the winters are brutal. Each fall is a special time. I sniff a chill in the air and get the reminder; memento mori. “Remember that you die.” Maybe it’s not a happy thing but it’s an important thing. I feel like brutal winters serve a purpose. They teach me to live while I can; perhaps a more mellow climate would have me frittering life away with my engine idling and my transmission in park? In this case, I had a choice between homestead chores and recreation; with winter approaching I simply had to go! There will come a time when such decisions are already made and part of an irreversible past. When they plant my ass I wanna’ know I enjoyed the world as much as my limited lifespan allowed; the roof is just a roof.


I planned for a mellow extended weekend. Perhaps sleep late before hitting the road? Alas, I was rousted out of bed with before dawn. The phone rang: “I’ll come over for a check. Be there in five.” I had no idea who the hell it was.

Trying desperately to guess which of many workers on several stalled projects had called me, I stumbled to the coffee pot. It wasn’t the roofer guy nor was it my mechanic (who went off on a Jeepin’ Week). Who else was on the list of people who ghosted me?

It was the window guy. He’d vanished in late spring. He’s a good fellow. I have some windows that are shot. (Actually all of my house windows are shot.) I’ve been trying to replace windows a bit at a time as I can afford it. I pick some windows each year and hurl money until they are fixed. Damn but it’s expensive! Perhaps in a decade or so they’ll all be done. Doing it all at once would break me!

The window guy had taken measurements on some (just a few!) of my windows, planned an order, claimed to have made the order, and then vanished… for months!

I expected the delay. In the modern world of post “just in time delivery” windows are custom made by faeries in magic-land. They certainly aren’t made locally and lets face it… is anything physically made by anyone anymore? Since nobody has a regular job, regular things like windows aren’t made in the ample supply we took for granted in “the before times”.

Delightfully, the order had finally arrived. The materials were at a nearby lumber yard. Now the dude’s was urgently rushing to pay for materials he’d ordered months ago. Back in the old universe, as recently as 2019, I’d have placed an order myself, paid with credit card, and gotten delivery in a jiffy. Regardless of anyone’s opinion about it; the world of business collapsed up here in the hinterland long ago. We’re edging into Mad Max territory but with a lot more congeniality and fewer oiled up Australian body builders. Also, it feels like the Mad Max warriors of the wastelands had a larger supply of welders and infinitely better mechanics than what’s available for my homestead.

Getting windows in under a six month wait is good news. It’s no longer “ridiculously slow” and drifts into “thank God it happened at all”. Unfortunately, the guy showed up at my door with his arm in a sling. Literally, like “fell off a ladder” broke. Daaaaaamn! I’m not the only guy dealing with injuries. We both hope the windows are installed by snowfall. He did a similar job a few years ago and his workmanship is excellent.

So yeah, I started the weekend by sleepily handing a check to a not-quite stranger and hoping it goes towards windows and not meth. Trust is a part of all transactions… so I’m stuck trusting. I’m reasonably assured it will work out. If not, I’ll go to his house and kick his ass. If my check bounces I assume he’ll do the same to me. (I wouldn’t have it any other way.)

I miss the old world of receipts and prompt delivery according to written schedules but it’s unwise to wait for what will never be again. One must deal with the society that is, not the one that once was and has fallen; nor should we wait for the imagined future that will never arrive. Rome on the Potomac has fallen as surely as the true Rome of yore did in the 5th century; might as well roll with it.

Before y’all get pedantic on me about the window guy, both of us are doing taxes and such. It’s completely aboveboard… and so are the lumberyard and window factory. We’re all legit people. It’s just that nobody has the “float” to do it smoothly and orderly like the old days of 3 years ago.

Stay tuned…

Posted in Fall_2022, Travelogues, Walkabout | 4 Comments

A Substack Post That Goes Down The Rabbit Hole

I’ve never heard of Sam Kriss but a bit of his writing emerged from substack and it’s glorious! He’s written a fine article that encompasses the internet and damn near everything else. Pour yourself a cup of coffee and go read it.

You’ve earned an article like that! Consider it a way of giving your poor overclocked brain a nice treat. Its been struggling though what I call the “Bidenverse” that happened following the end of the “Before Times”. Kriss nails all those concepts better than I ever will.

I’m pasting a few quotes to entice you to read the whole thing. We’ve all heard the usual “the internet is dead” screed. It’s pretty obvious to all of us that large swaths of what was once called “cyberspace” have hit the wall creatively. Kriss says it better:

A dying animal still makes its last few spastic kicks: hence the recent flurry of strange and stillborn ideas. Remember the Internet of Things? Your own lightbulbs blinking out ads in seizure-inducing Morse code, your own coffee machine calling the police if you try to feed it some unlicensed beans. Remember the Metaverse? The grisly pink avatar of Mark Zuckerberg, bobbing around like the ghost of someone’s foreskin through the scene of the recent genocides. Wow! It’s so cool to immersively experience these bloodmires in VR! More recent attempts to squeeze some kind of profit out of this carcass are, somehow, worse.

Kriss puts plenty of meat on those tired bones. Optimistically, I think he might be onto something. Plus he’s got a sense of humor:

Whatever it is I’m doing here, you should not be part of it. Do not click the button below this paragraph, do not type in your email address to receive new posts straight to your inbox, and for the love of God, if you have any self-respect, do not even think about giving me any money. There is still time for you to do something else. You can still unchain yourself from this world that will soon, very soon, mean absolutely nothing.

About his future on substack:

I’m told that the most successful writing on here is friendly, frequent, and fast. Apparently, readers should know exactly what you’re getting at within the first three sentences. I do not plan on doing any of these things.

Hat tip to Ace of Spades (in Tech News).

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

This Somehow Fits Perfectly

I’m going to describe a wilderness moment for people who’ve never experienced it. Many of you know what I’m talking about. If so, please forgive the oversimplification.

If you’re walking in the forest with someone who’s in the habit of being alone in the wilderness, watch them. They’ll check their bearings from time to time; especially when off trail or in confusing terrain. This isn’t a formalized Boy Scout / Army Ranger “check the compass and read angles” approach. It’s the subtle moment when a fella takes a break to look around. He’ll check the view the way he just traversed. It always looks a little different when you backtrack. He’ll glance at landscape scale markers. Does that mountain peak look a little different? Is it still to the west? He’ll check finer scale indicators. Is the creek still within earshot? Has the aspen grove given way to lodgepole? He’ll check small things too. Is the ground sandy? Wet? Sloping?

An experienced woodsman will do this in a way that’s easy to miss. I have a natural inclination to disguise the routine checking of bearings. I think other outdoorsmen do the same. It looks like I just paused to sip some water, or tighten up shoelaces, or piss on a fern, or look at an elk trail… and I did. But I was also reorienting himself to my environment and my place in it.

The point is those who travel alone are always paying attention. That’s how they get to travel alone. To fail at “paying attention” will eventually lead to a screw up. From there it’s only a short step to requiring a search party… or a pallbearer. This is probably why most people never walk alone.

If you’ve never seen it, and most people haven’t, you’ve missed a lesson about life.


The Silicon Greybeard just did a repost of something he wrote in 2017; A Repost on Being Worn Out by the Situation We’re in. This somehow fits perfectly with what I tried to describe; except it’s on an intellectual/political scale instead of in relation to nature.

He talked about his disillusionment in 2017 and how that encouraged him to write about more positive and personal things:

That “frustration and disillusionment with a world gone mad” is why I shifted my emphasis from writing about the problems…

…to the technical stuff like the shop things, radio articles, and space stories I’ve been highlighting lately.  They’re the things I’m most interested in.

Interestingly, I’d posted something similar at about about the same time.

Way back in 2017 (which is centuries ago in internet years) Silicon Greybeard noticed the parallels and quoted from my blog:

Some time year ago (with many fits and starts and personal failures en route) I began to steer away from “serious” commentary. The world had enough overwrought hand-wringing. I thought it was good for the soul (in particular my soul) to let most of it go.

With some caveats I think we’ve been drifting toward the same concept. We saw things going to shit but got tired of saying “hey… that’s a bad idea that’ll make things go to shit”.

It’s boring. There’s no point in telling the stampeding herd to turn aside before they go off the cliff. If they lust for death and misery what can we do to stop them? So, we shifted to what interested us and left the herd to go off the cliff without further comment. (I’ve been only partially successful at that.)


That was a decision I originally made during a periodic “bearing check” in late 2016 and early 2017.

Do you remember 2017? That’s the year of Silicon Greybeard’s post (and mine)? I remember. At the time, doom was impending. It had drawn nigh, approached, loomed, and threatened. The more obvious it became the less necessary it seemed to mention it.

Now, even normies and Kool-Aid drinkers sense something is wrong. They never figured it out with logic. Perhaps they lack the will or the mental horsepower? They finally picked up the scent of failure and experienced the pure emotion of collapse. They think shit might get weird if current trends continue.

Except, there’s no “might” or “current trends continue”. It’s a done deal.


I remember other done deals. I remember wondering why TARP during the tail end of Bush Jr.’s circus of a presidency didn’t devalue the dollar. This led to wondering why Obama’s continuing mismanagement didn’t kick it off the cliff.

Now I know… it happened; just as it was always fated to be.

The currency has been devalued. It will decline as long as we treat it like we have been treating it. Perhaps it took a while and perhaps a few extra self-inflicted shocks were needed to get the ball rolling, but it was a done deal long ago. I couldn’t know when the math would take over. But I knew, in the long term, math never loses. That’s a bearing check for ya’.

I used to write about inflation. Now I don’t. Why would I? The anticipation is over. If folks didn’t see it coming or if they’re slow on the uptake…  well that’s not my problem. It got too boring to tell them about it and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.


There are other bearing checks. One thing that’s interesting is that I refer to 2019 as “the before times”. At first that brought cynical jeers. Now, it doesn’t. Nobody of any political viewpoint finds it funny. No matter how much Kool-Aid you’ve drank, you can’t make 2022’s reality seem superior to clear memories from 2019.

That’s a bearing check. You have to stop once in a while and look around you. Look forward, look back, look around, smell the air. Where are you in relation to the environment around you?

In 2016, I started my Squirrel stories. The bedlam of the last few months of Hillary Clinton’s campaign had me worn down. The irrefutable guaranteed 95% statistically certain campaign that unquestionably would lead to the complete thrashing of incompetent showman Trump just didn’t match what I saw with my own two eyes. The vast gulf between what I was being told and what I was seeing was almost physically painful.

Meanwhile, people were taking it too seriously. They needed a break. So I tried fiction and it seemed ok. I don’t know if it helped many, but maybe I gave y’all a laugh and that never hurts. It made me feel better. If I were a faster writer, the whole book would be written by now.

By 2017 I was explaining why I’d stopped talking about inflation, or federal debt, and I even quit flogging the stupidly subsidized Chevy Volt. Large (or at least amplified) parts of society were huffing this shit too deeply. They indulged in a psychotic break from which they apparently will never emerge. They went apeshit for at least three years before COVID became a new flavor of the same old apeshit. They never calmed down. They never recovered. I guess they can’t.

I thought people needed a break. I started writing camping stories; I called them “Walkabouts“. Three years of freaked out maniacs launching one attempt after another to slay the dragon of Mar-a-Lago had worn me too hard. I needed a break. I figured everyone else did too.

Do you remember the last events of 2019? Think hard. Covid wasn’t yet a thing and we’d never seen an empty shelf at the store. Right around Christmas came a failed impeachment vote against trump. That’s approximately the moment when “the Before Times” ran out. Before that winter’s snow had melted my dog was dead and a mild virus from Wuhan had induced an already jittery people to bask in their own self-affirming abyss of fear.

So where are we now? We’re one year past the attempted vaccine mandate of 2021. I cannot let that go. Every time I try to mention politics, I lose my cool and start frothing at the mouth about it. Mostly because it happened just one year ago and everyone is already trying to memory hole it. I don’t memory hole things because I don’t wish to wander around lost. Every time I write about it I regret it. I don’t need to mention it. We were all there. If you were there and didn’t see it, then nothing can make your eyes see what your emotions won’t accept.

Look forward, look back, look around, smell the air. Where are you in relation to the environment around you? I took time to reorient late last year. I centered. I let the madness wash over me but not uproot me. I (thankfully) held firm.

But I do need to refocus on the positive. My last post disappointed myself. Squirrels in 2016, walkabouts in 2019. I know the path. Yet sometimes I stray.

The good news is I pay attention, even to myself. And thus course correct as well and as quickly as I can. I have another camping story in the hopper. I have another chapter of Attack of the Lesbian Activist Squirrels just about ready to go. I return to the path.


So long as I focus on the positive it seems to work out. I try to avoid pointing at the stupid and saying “look at that festering pile of steaming moronic self-destructive idiocy… doesn’t it suck?” The people who recognize it as shit already know. The ones that don’t will roll in it now matter what I do.

Also, an experienced woodsman is never lost, but sometimes they’re a little late getting back to camp.

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Everything Which Is Not Compulsory Is Forbidden

Update: I was wrong and I suck. I tired to read directly from the Danish (translated) but it looks like I missed some nuance. Clearer word is that Denmark has stopped encouraging the vax for adults but it didn’t swing all the way into reverse and ban it for most adults.

As I understand it now, an adult in Denmark can get the vax if they want the vax and can refrain if they want to refrain.

Great news! That’s how it should have been for day one.

So… that means my post is just bullshit. I should stick with motorcycle camping! I feel properly chastised and repent for my dumb post.

Also, I’m happy for the people of Denmark. Huzzah!

I could delete the post but I felt like memory holing my stupidity would smack of “coverup”. I drew a line below. I’ll let my rant remain. You may mock me as needed. Let it never be said that when I’m wrong I try to hide it.

Have a good week.


Everything which is not forbidden is compulsory.
Everything which is not compulsory is forbidden.

So, it has come to pass. Denmark, just banned the vax for people under 50 (unless you have certain medical issues). I’m not sure how banned it is. It might be that a sympathetic doc would stretch exceptions to meet the request of a patient? Or it might not.

Most nations went ape over COVID. One mark of civilization is to not panic when faced with a challenge. I think most places failed to react with calm decorum.

Denmark was into electronic vax passports. The COVID pass was required to visit restaurants, sports centers and hairdressers. It remained mandatory until September 2021 when it wasn’t required anymore.

This happened the exact same time America’s government was still bitching at every single American to get the vax. Remember it was a “pandemic of the unvaccinated”? This led to curtailing the “right” to work for any employer (with over 100 employees). Why the hell not?

Being such a happy guy, Biden followed up in late December telling me I’d suffer “a winter of severe illness and death for the unvaccinated—for themselves, their families and the hospitals they’ll soon overwhelm”.

It was a downer. Most presidents wish me a “Merry Christmas”. That seems like a better way to go.

Experiments in denying employment to half the populace flamed out in January. (It’s still working its way through the courts.)

In the same period of one year, Denmark made an 180 degree switch. Painting with a broad brush, Denmark shifted from requiring proof of the vax to banning the vax.

Wise governance would neither force a person to take an injection nor ban them from one they wanted. Wise people let others make their own choices.

To swing from harassing people without the vax to banning them from getting it is logically inconsistent. Also it forced people to do a thing from which there’s no going back. Like an ill considered tattoo, there’s no way to “unring the bell“. If a treatment is coerced and then some bureaucracy decides it’s a bad idea what exactly can they offer as recompense? “Whoops… we forced our choices on you but now we’re cool with your original plan, sorry it’s to late to go back.”

No single choice is right for all people. Humans ought not be moved about gameboards at the whim of bored rulers.

Nobody knows what you should do with your life more than you.

I don’t know who in Denmark might want the vax in late 2022. They probably have a good reason for that preference. They have my sympathy. It’s just as wrong to deny them as it was to try force it on me.

Hat tip to Vlad Tepes.

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Butterflies!

I have a wider audience than I thought! I occasionally post about butterflies. I’ve been “raising” one or a few monarchs annually over the last few years. It may sound silly but I heartily recommend “raising” butterflies. It’s just plain a happy thing. Always remember the simple things! There’s childlike joy to be had if you’ve retained the wisdom to appreciate it.

A homeschool kid bumped into my blog and saw my butterfly links. This turned into what I presume to be a school assignment about butterflies: How to Grow your own Butterfly Garden.

Please check it out. I like to encourage students whenever I can.


Incidentally, I failed to post photos of this year’s monarch. Now that it’s a rock star, I should rectify that. I present to you “Constantine” who emerged in late July:

 


I’m not always organized about posts. If you’re looking for other mention of butterflies here’s a way to start:

2018: Phenology Report: Monarchs: 12345678.

2020: The Cycle Of Life Births A Monarch.

2021 (reverse chronological order): Critters: Pics Or It Didn’t HappenCritter Encounters: Outwitted By An InvertebrateCritter Encounters.

2022: Planets, Butterflies, And Bullshit. (Warning, no photos and I a ramble about Pluto, the definition of “recession”, and how to have breakfast with a butterfly.)

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Flightline

Society is in decline but I’ve been feeling pretty optimistic. Political dipshits want you to feel depressed and hopeless. They need you to hold yourself down. I don’t. I prefer the glory of the real world to the self-defeating gloom of the fake one.

Here’s a horse race where the winner doesn’t just win but absolutely dominates. I’m not an avid sports watcher, but when I see something awesome I cheer for it.

Hat tip to Small Dead Animals.

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Shining City On A Hill

I remember when presidents gave speeches that didn’t threaten Americans with violence. I remember presidents who didn’t list off which groups are slated for subjugation. I remember presidents that at least tried to be pleasant.

Here’s a clip from Ronald Reagan’s exit. Notice he doesn’t bitch out Democrats? Notice he doesn’t bitch out Congress for thwarting his plans? He doesn’t grouse about people who were a pain in the ass. Dan Rather hounding him for years or Gorbachev being a clueless drunk is just the nature of things and not a reason to go scorched earth. Notice he doesn’t isolate any group of citizens at all. He doesn’t treat any Americans as jerks to be isolated and defeated.

He articulates a vision of aspirational hope and optimism… there’s even a hint of gratitude. Maybe he wasn’t perfect but he’s doing his best as a force of good. He was simply a better man than angry spiteful evil vengeful Biden.

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