WILL A TSUNAMI CARRY AWAY GEORGE BUSH AND IF SO, WHEN?
Recently, there has been speculation about the possibility of a Mega-Tsunami that would send waves 1800 feet high against the East Coast of the U.S., destroying everyone and everything for a distance of 50 miles inland from the shore.
Since your kindly editor lives on the East Coast, I was curious about this eventuality
According to DISCOVERY TV channel and other sources, it seems to be only a question of "when," not "whether"
It seems that we have an unavoidable disaster in the making.
The Idyllic little island of La Palma in the Canary Island group off the coast of Africa allegedly hosts a singular menace: It is the sleeping Cumbre Viejo volcano that occupies a great deal of the island of La Palma. In fact, Cumbre Viejo has one of the largest calderas of any volcano in the world.
The interesting part, according to some folk, is that the western flank of the caldera is separating from the rest of the caldera and may fall into the Atlantic Ocean.
The Western Flank is basically a slab of rock about twice the size of the island of Manhattan and weighs 500 billion tons.
According to the doomsday scenario, if there was a really serious eruption of Cumbre Viejo (and it is an active volcano, having erupted in 1949 and 1971) there is a possibility that the half trillion ton western flank would peel off and tumble into the ocean.
This would generate a Tsunami 1800 feet high. It would travel at the speed of jet liner to the East Coast of North America. It is true that it would be reduced in size when it reached the East Coast, but it would still be at least 300 feet high and quite possibly 1,000 feet high when it came ashore.
One would think that Washington, DC, George Bush and your kindly editor would be protected by the Delmarva Peninsula. Sadly, this does not seem to be the case as the worst hit areas will be harbors and estuaries that will funnel the force of the waves. Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Washington DC, and Baltimore will be soggy toast.
According to Professors, Simon Day and Bill McGuire of the Banfield Hazard Resource Center in London, the casualty rate would be around 50 to 150 million on the US East Coast alone, with smaller numbers in Britain and Western Europe.
This is sort of scary. Such an event is called a "Gee-Gee" or Global Geophysical Event.
A "Gee-Gee" is something physical that markedly changes the geography and history of the planet. The recent Indian Ocean Tsunami, tragic as it was, does not qualify as a "Gee-Gee" A La Palma Tsunami 1800 feet high would.
Consider the timing of the year 1949, when the Western flank of Cumbres Viejo volcano was said to have slipped 4 meters during an eruption.
1949 was the beginning of the Cold War. Had the East Coast of the U.S. and much of Coastal Western Europe been taken out by a Tsunami, then the Communist bloc, the Soviet Union and China, completely untouched by the disaster, would have won the Cold War by default. Might have even wound up as heroes! Such are the vagaries of a Gee-Gee.
It's a great plot for a disaster novel, but apparently it aint gonna happen.' cause it's a geophysical impossibility.
At least that's what Dr. George Pararas-Carayanis (or "PC" among his drinking buddies) has to say in his excruciatingly exhaustive paper "Evaluation of the Threat of Mega-Tsunami Generation From Postulated Massive Slope Failures on La Palma, Canary Islands and on the Island of Hawaii."
Basically, Dr. "PC" says Professor Day is full of crap (In that oblique, genteel way scientists have of knifing the argument of a colleague.) Briefly, "PC " says that (A) Stratovolcanos just don't collapse in quite the manner the doomsters describe and (B) the landslide, even if it did occur, would not create that Michael Crichton sized wave, citing the 1929 Grand Banks North Atlantic slide, which displaced between 300 and 700 billion tons and generated only a negligible Tsunami. And (C) even if such a wave was generated, it would not be of size Dr. Day predicted when it arrived at Atlantic City, New Jersey.
I am relieved of course to know that I will not be taking up surfing in Wheaton, Maryland, but I am also vaguely disappointed that this disaster can't happen.
In God's name, why? You ask incredulously.
Well, speaking as a Bull Moose Republican, it would have given George Bush an opportunity to show his selfless nobility, an opportunity that has so far eluded him.
Here is the scenario:
It is February 25, 2007, several hours after the Cumbres Volcano erupted. The proverbial wall of water is well on its way to the East Coast (It takes 7 hours to get here) the roads of the Eastern seaboard are gridlocked with 100 million doomed Americans trying to reach high ground.
The President's Helicopter MARINE CORPS I is on the front lawn of the White House and has just finished loading President Bush and his cabinet for a flight to the West Virginia Mountains and safety.
The rotors began to turn. In the background, there is the sound of sweet children's voices singing "God Bless America." It is the choir of St. Agnes Orphanage who had been invited to sing at the White House that fateful morning.
President Bush turns to his cabinet. "THERE SHOULD BE NO CHILD LEFT BEHIND! If each of us were to give up his space, we could get all the orphans on board! What say you?
Naturally, his cabinet, being as altruistic as the President, stepped forward as one to give up their seat for the orphans. There was even enough room for Laura Bush, the two Scotty dogs and an eternally grateful Dan Rather, who recorded the event for posterity (and converted to Republicanism.)
The President tells the children that they are the hope of the nation and they will rebuild a far, far better world, and waves farewell.)
President Bush and his cabinet join hands and resolutely face east. The Marine Corps Band softly plays "Nearer my God to Thee!"
Not even Michael Crichton could come up with a better scenario than that one, neighbors!
WHY ARE WE RED?
Connoisseurs of National Park Service battlefield maps and battlefield map brochures are aware that God's Side (Us) is usually depicted as blue arrows or blue squares to denote troop movement and unit location. The Forces of Darkness (those who are against us) are usually depicted as red arrows and red squares.
This is true whether the Evil Ones are French, British, Indians, Confederates, Japanese, or whoever is disagreeing with us
We are always a noble shade of blue, whereas the Bad Guys are always an aggressive shade of Red.
So your editor was surprised and confused to find the media dividing America into the Red States (Republican) and the Blue States (Democratic) thus confusing the South Dakota simplicity of my perception of Good and Evil.
How exactly did this color coding get started in the recent media? I mean, Red has always been the traditional color of Revolution and Socialism. Now it is the color of the Republican Party
So how come the two colors are reversed, at least in my mind. Calling somebody a "Red," always neatly pigeonholed them as some shade of Marxist. Conservatives, at least in this country were not color coded. In Great Britain, Blue was the traditional color of the conservatives (as in "True Blue Tory" In communist countries "White" was often the color ascribed to conservatives or reactionaries, due to the .counter revolutionary "Whites" of the Russian Civil War.
How did Blue get adopted by the media as the color of the Democrats or Liberals?
How did the NPS and other battlefield describers come up with the color Blue for the U.S. Forces and Red for all the other guys?
Was it the Blue of the continental soldier's uniform (and continuing Blue of the U.S. uniform up to and through the Spanish American war?) Was it the Red of the British uniform that caused battlefield illustrators to lump all our adversaries under "Red"?
I have asked Joe Craig the formidable historian of Saratoga Battle Field NHP, to answer these pressing questions. Joe, who is a diplomat as well as an interpreter, told me that he "Would get back to me" on this issue.
Other NPS battlefield historians might like to weigh into this topic.
Above all, I am curious as to how the Republicans suddenly became Marxists.
REDSKINS AND CLEAR CUTS
Over the years, a number of critics, not all of them liberal, has remarked that it might be regarded as culturally and racially insensitive to use a pejorative term for Native Americans as a name for a major sports teams, that is The Washington Redskins.
Possibly the reason the various owners of the Redskins have been able to get away with it is that the local Native Americans "left" long ago (to use that quaint verb in the manner the Turkish government describes the lack of Armenians in their country after 1915).
It is also possible that "Redskins" present owner, Daniel Snyder, may not be overly sensitive to the environment as well as being possibly culturally insensitive.
Mr. Snyder owns a $10 million dollar mansion butting up against the C & O National Historic Park. He would have a fine view of the scenic Potomac River except for those damn trees. Now while the trees are on Mr. Snyder's property, there is the messy inconvenience of a scenic easement that forbids cutting the trees.
Fortunately, Mr. Snyder's people discovered some exotic species, mainly Chinese Tree of Heaven, an invasive species, among the trees. Snyder's people approached the NPS. "Would the park like the dangerous exotics removed free of charged? Yes, of course.
But will you replant with native trees? Yes, of course!
Now as any graduate of a US Forestry school will tell you, selective logging is for sissies! Clear cutting is the answer! And so the clear cutting was done, taking out native oak and sycamore as well as the dread Tree of Heaven.
To be fair, Mr. Snyder replanted immediately with native species -- in the form of saplings about a yard high. In 30 years, you'll be amazed at their growth.
In the interim, Mr. Snyder has his view of the Potomac (In exchange, hikers on the canal towpath have a view of his mansion, fair exchange!
Naturally, Mr. Snyder's equally wealthy neighbors wonder if they too can enlist in the war against exotic species.
THE MILLENNIUM STAGE
One of the small treats of growing up in a middling sized small town in the Midwest or South was the weekly summer municipal band concert.
It was usually the town's only attempt at Culture. No ballet or opera for the stolid, hard working citizens of Gopher Prairie or Tompkinsville. That would be for the slightly suspect slickers in Minneapolis. The musicians were all amateurs; one hesitates to call them "gifted amateurs," but they were all willing to try. The local businessmen chipped in to buy uniforms to make it a more formal event, as it was known that a Friday or Saturday night concert would lure farm families into town where they might, per chance, buy something.
The band concert was, of course, free. That was its drawing power and one reason why the small town band concert still goes tootling on, after all these years, in spite of television, DVD's and other distractions.
The free band concert was a place where you could meet, socialize with old friends, compare hog prices, and, if you were of that persuasion, flirt with other teen agers (Parents always turned a favorable ear on an innocent request for permission to go to the band concert)
Surprisingly enough, America's largest small town, Washington, DC has its very own free band concert and it occurs not just in the summer months, as in Gopher Prairie, but 365 days a year, free of charge, rain or shine.
Oddly enough, this cultural freebee is not very well known. It is the Millennium Stage in the Kennedy Center and it offers top flight musical entertainment along with a do it yourself picnic, if you so desire. It is the cheapest evening out in a rather expensive city.
The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts (Or "Ken-Cen" as most local yokels call itm) is an imposing white marble pile on the banks of the Potomac.
Normally, the Ken-Cen is outrageously expensive. Dinner for two at the Ken-Cen's Terrace Cafe is going to take the liver and lights out of a hundred dollar bill. The following attendance at a first run play, ballet, or opera will be in excess of $100, with the total tab conceivably approaching $300. It will be considerably more if you are Catholic, Mormon, or Careless, and have children.
Naturally, this will cause George & Martha Middle American of Gopher Prairie to gulp, shudder, and give the Ken-Cen a pass. Likewise Gerald GS-7, in for management training from Devil's Navel National Monument; will also think a movie a better entertainment investment than an evening at the Ken-Cen.
They would be wrong
Washington, DC, America's largest hick town still has that free small town band concert every night at the Ken-Cen, and it is always better than anything heard at the Gopher Prairie Band Concert.
So how do you get to the Ken-Cen? Well, if you're real rich or real dumb, you can drive.
If it's the later, simply tell your chauffeur to let you off in front of the Ken-Cen around 5:30 and pick you up around 7:15; if it's the latter, you can drive into the expensive parking garage under the Ken-Cen after traversing the second most confusing and irritating city driving in the U.S. (Boston is the worst).
If competitive driving is not your forte or you want to save some money. simply inquire of your hotel, the location of the nearest Metro Station. The Metro is the magic carpet that will transport you to most things of interest in metropolitan DC; it is safe, easy to use and comparatively inexpensive.
Go to the Metro Map in the station and locate the Foggy Bottom Metro Station. (The name "Foggy Bottom" always elicits prurient chuckles from outlanders; "Bottom" is a Southern geographical term for a flood plain and is the local nickname for the State Department which resides in the vicinity) Anyways, Foggy Bottom will be the stop you want for the Ken Cen. Foggy Bottom is on the Orange Line and you might have to go to Metro Center to change for that line. Once you arrive at Foggy Bottom Metro, take the escalator to the surface. You will find yourself facing a street corner. If your timing is perfect, you will see a small red bus with "Kennedy Center" on it parked at the corner, If not, don't fret, one will be along shortly The shuttle is free and will take you to the main entrance of the Ken-Cen , which will put you into the Hall of Nations.
The Hall of Nations will knock the Redwings off you; particularly if you are a first time visitor from South Dakota (Beats the silk out of the Corn Palace, neighbors!) The Hall of Nations is a long, marble lined hall with a wall to wall crimson carpet and an 80 foot high ceiling from which the flags of all the world's nations are suspended, even the ones we are not speaking to at this time.
At the end of the Hall, there is a huge lobby. If you turn right, you will see the Millennium stage at the end of the lobby. Walk on down and the usher will provide you with a program of the evening's entertainment. It is wise to arrive around 5:30 to assure seats for your party
You have prepared yourself and spouse or/guest for an elegant picnic at the Ken-Cen. You have procured a canvas tote bag or a day pack. Into that bag or day pack you have placed a bottle of a reasonable quality wine (No screw caps, this is after all, the Ken Cen!) or two bottles of interesting beer(or fruit juice if you are Moslem or Mormon) and plastic glasses and two designer sandwiches that you have handcrafted in your hotel room from ingredients obtained at the nearest Deli, as well as a brownie for dessert. You should bring along napkins as well as two small towels from the hotel to put across your laps while you picnic. You are now ready to be happily entertained.
Ah! But you say you have come unprepared! You had an afternoon conference with Norella or perhaps Dubya himself to discuss the fate of the Park Service! You did not have time to make a sandwich or even buy a bottle of wine!
Fortunately, all is not lost! The folks that manage the Ken-Cen look kindly upon the poor! There is a happy hour! If you stop at the mini-bar in the lobby before the witching hour of 6, you can buy a beer or a substantial glass of wine for $3.00! One minute later than 6 pm and the price will go up to $6.00 . The happy hour also applies to the Ken-Cen's very tasty sandwiches, which also sell at half price.
Now that one way or another, you have put together your picnic lunch, what exactly are you going to hear and see at DC's band concert!
Well now, DC is not exactly Gopher Prairie, so the mix is going to be pretty eclectic, just like the nation's capitol.
Let's run down some samples from January, 2005, to give you an idea:
January 1, (Yup, one of the few federal agencies open!) We have "The Junkyard Saints" a Baltimore group doing Zydeco, Latin, Ska, Jump Blues and Mard iGras Funk
January 2"Zulai" An Armenian trio bringing fresh energy to traditional Armenian folk music
January 3 The Madison Ensemble String Quartet has performed at the White House and with the National Symphony Orchestra
January 4, Gets you Barbara Martin, singer and Mac Walter doing originals, blues and jazz.
If you like a lot of variety in one place, show up for the Mayor's Arts Awards on January 10 when they'll have the DC Caribbean Carnival Dancers and the Culkin School of Traditional Irish Dance.
To get the Millennium Stage program for the nights you will be in Washington, DC simply go the the trusty internet.
Those of you who have yearned for those lost humid, mosquito infested evenings spent in front of the Gopher Prairie band stand need yearn no more! The Millennium Stage awaits you, minus the mosquitoes, heat and humidity
THE GRAY GHOST AND OLD RAG
"Old Rag" is the Signature Hike of Shenandoah National Park. All National Parks have Signature Hikes. A Signature Hike can be defined as the one hike that best explores the features and the spirit for which the park was established to protect.
The Signature Hike is not necessarily the longest or even the most challenging in the park, but it attempts to provide the most variety of experience to the taxpayer.
For example, The Signature Hike of Mount Rainier is the "Wonderland trail," The 100 mile , 10 day circumnavigation of the semi-retired volcano that not only gives you the right to say you've "done" Rainier, but also excuses you from making the attempt to climb God's Own Vanilla Sundae, a dreary, occasionally dangerous slog in which you become acquainted only with the ten foot patch of snow within your peripheral vision until you finally run out of mountain and can stare into the whiteout.
Some signature hikes are downright spooky, like the Signature Hike of Zion National Park; a two day hike down the slot canyon of the Virgin River, where the canyon walls rise smooth a thousand feet and are barely wide enough to accommodate you and the river; and where you don't want your hiking companion to say "Gee! I wonder what that strange, roaring sound is."
Other signature hikes are sort of stupid when you think about it. The dumbest one that comes to mind is the feverish desire to do the "Signature Hike" at Statue of Liberty which is to climb up through Lady Liberty's unmentionables and gaze out bovinely from her crown. This is sort of the New York equivalent of visiting Lenin's tomb in Moscow and makes even less sense. The closing of the Statue due to 9/11 has been bitterly contested by would be crown goers.
Some "hikes" are liquid, such as the storied canoe and kayak trail through Everglades National Park.
The Old Rag signature Hike is a pretty good sampler of Shenandoah National Park (except for the lack of Jewel like small water falls, which are a distinguishing feature of the park) The 7.2 mile circuit hike takes you along the banks of the Hughes river, hoists you up on the broad shoulders of Old Rag for panoramas of the Blue Ridge and the Piedmont.
But what makes Old Rag the signature hike is a sort of mile long lithic jungle gym near the mountain's 3,291 foot summit. This stone puzzle is why upwards of a 100,000 a year climb Old Rag, usually by the "hard" route. The hike is so popular that has its very own entrance station and is one of Shenandoah National Park's leading money makers at $10 a car load, (The road ends in a trail head parking lot about 100 feet from the entrance station, setting some sort of a record for shortness in seeing the USA in your Chevrolet).
I elected to climb Old Rag with John Haubert, recently retired from the Washington Office of the National Park Service where he was in charge of the Services Wild and Scenic Rivers Program. John is a lanky, laconic Michigander, who passes up few chances to hike in Shenandoah.
A Monday in December would insure that we would have the Mountain and the trail to ourselves, so that was the day we selected.
Haubert picked me up at the Huntington Metro Station and we were soon embedded in DC traffic which is the third worst in the nation after Los Angeles and San Francisco. Sort of clarifies the reason for parks, particularly those that make you walk. The traffic abated somewhat by the time we turned off Warrenton on storied Route 66. While the traffic lessened at the Warrenton exit, the strip sprawl did not. We Americans have a positive genius for this kind of depressing rural highway squalor. Even though you realize this linear slum is only one building thick, it does tend to spoil your day; sort of a reverse of the "beauty strip" of standing trees along roads that the nefarious U.S. Forest Service uses to conceal clear cuts from passing taxpayers out West. This "slurb" is not an "Eastern" problem that you can escape from by going West. It is an American problem; the strip slum around Farmington, New Mexico is as "good" as anything in New Jersey.
However, shortly after we turned right after Warrenton, we were suddenly out of suburban Northern Virginia and were magically carried back to the Ol' Virginny of woods and rolling green hills (even in December) National Geographically beautiful: fat, well painted prosperous farms; horse country, hunt country, Civil War country, Mosby country.
John Singleton Mosby, the "Gray Ghost" was the leader of a small band of fast moving cavalry known as Mosby's Partisan Rangers, or more pejoratively, as Mosby's Guerillas or more formally as the 43rd Virginia Cavalry.
Mosby operated in a five county region of Northern Virginia, so effectively that the area became known as "Mosby's Confederacy." He did everything a guerilla leader is supposed to do: Wreck supply lines, harass enemy troops, capture high ranking enemy officers ,provide intelligence, generally make the enemy nervous and off balance ,and above all, charm the locals :"The sea within which the guerillas swim" as Chairman Mao so memorably phrased it.
Mosby remains so popular that in 1995, the Mosby Heritage Area was established by the State of Virginia with the assistance of the National Park Service. The Mosby Heritage Area embraces the five counties of "Mosby's Confederacy" and is a large and important cog in the constantly churning wheels of the billion dollar Civil War Industry. Tours and tapes are offered, souvenirs are sold and reenactments are enthusiastically enacted, and the money rolls in.
What sort of a man was John Singleton Mosby? A rather remarkable one, by all accounts, even grudging Union ones. If the strategic effect of his activities were somewhat overblown by his admirers, it was the admirers, not Mosby who were doing the blowing. Mosby was University educated, (like a surprising number of guerilla leaders), a superb horseman, a charismatic leader, an astute tactician and a brilliant student of human nature.
He could be witty, playful and chivalrous, as the circumstances demanded. He could also be hard, cold, and immovable as granite if the circumstances required. When General George A. Custer hanged six of Mosby's men as guerrillas, Mosby hung seven of Custer's in retaliation and said he would continue doing so until they got the rules sorted out. Custer got the point.
He was also honest and pragmatic. No sooner than the war ended, Mosby switched sides, becoming a Republican and a devoted life long friend and admirer of U.S.Grant.
Grant used him as a trouble shooter, appointing him to government agencies that were rife with corruption, including the Department of Interior, which was as demoralized then as it is now under Norella
Mosby spent his declining years in the San Francisco Bay Area where he gave riding lessons and told war stories to a hero-worshipping little boy by the name of George S. Patton Jr.
Driving through the Mosby Heritage Area raised two questions:
The first question is why were the Confederate commanders, even bit players like Col. Mosby, so incredibly good to excellent and the Union commanders so incredibly bad to mediocre ?
Not too long ago, you got the "blood" theory. Allegedly, certain groups with a tendency for warfare and settling disputes with violence, such as the Afghans, Scotch-Irish, and Vikings, passed on the "fighting blood" or genes for that pastime because they were sufficiently good at it to survive until reproduction. Some Southerners have modestly suggested that they were hereditary warriors.
Genetic Predisposition for warfare does not seem to be the case. The bloodthirsty Vikings of yesterday are now the peace loving Swedes and Norwegians of today who are forever chiding George Bush about violence. The legendary Germans, usually first to fight and last to surrender, now come on like Quakers when we ask them to show up in Iraq. The most feared and respected soldiery of the 16th century was the ancestors of today's gentle Portuguese. Even the "bloodthirsty" Afghan who is supposed to "love" warfare because it's "in his blood" would much prefer to spend his life with farm and family, if given half an opportunity, according to pleasantly surprised American Marines.
But if it's not genetics, then what DID account for Confederate command superiority, and to a lesser degree, that of the Confederate soldiery?
Well now, there's the theory of Cultural Superiority; that is, my way of doing things and looking at things, my religion, my philosophy are better than yours and that is why I am better than you.
That is a circular way of reasoning which doesn't get us far.
The Northerners and the Southerners had somewhat different economic systems, but their language, bible and ancestry were roughly the same, So why did one side get Lee, Jackson, Forest, Stuart, Johnston,, Hill, Hood, Early, Mosby and a host of other stars, and the other side got Hooker, Burnside, Pope, McClellan and a host of other nonentities.?
If the South did not have Cultural Superiority, it may have had Cultural Advantage.
As this theory does not imply Virtue to one side, we can pursue it without raising sectional hackles.
One Cultural Advantage the South had over the North was what is called an open winter.
While it does get cold in the South and it does occasionally snow, the snow usually doesn't last long or interfere with doing what you want to do, which just might include hunting with your friends. The Northeast and the Midwest on the other hand, were cocooned up with real snow and partially immobilized. You went out only when you had to, took care of the livestock and spent the rest of the day reading the bible, and singing hymns, possibly not the best preparation for leading a cavalry brigade.
Another Cultural Advantage the South had were dogs.
In fact, the South's cultural secret weapon was hound dogs. This is not a well known fact, even to most historians. I stumbled upon it one rainy day, idly thumbing through my copy of SIMON & SCHUSTER'S GUIDE TO DOGS. I discovered that most American dog breeds were developed in the South.
They were not toy poodles. They were pack dogs, usually some form of Coon hound.. These dog packs were organized and coordinated by hunters who in turn had to organize and coordinate themselves to move safely and successfully through the woods, usually at night. This led to a great deal of "natural" understanding about group dynamics, cooperation, leadership, and what sociologists like to call male bonding.
Of the nine Southern breeds of dogs only one, the Chesapeake Bay retriever, was developed for use by a lone hunter, the rest of the breeds were communal dogs.
As the Yankees developed no dogs and certainly no pack dogs and did not Coon hunt they were thus psychologically, sociologically and militarily unprepared for the Civil War,
I decided to call this thesis "The Coon Hound Theory of Southern Command Superiority."
I asked Haubert what he thought of my theory.
He was dubious (John is a naturally polite guy)
"Have you run this idea past Ed Bearss"? He asked.
"Colonel "Ed Bearss (pronounced "Bar") is the emeritus dean of NPS Civil War Historians and was one of the stars of Ken Burns' famed Civil War documentary
"Not yet, but I'm sure he'll be overwhelmed by the insight" I replied confidently .
John was not so confident.
"Are you sure the Confederates were always brilliant and the Federals always stupid?" (John, remember, hails from General Custer's home state of Michigan) "I can't believe that General Lee wandered around Virginia winning battle after battle until he absent mindedly arrived in Appomattox and said "Oh, Yeah, this is the place where I'm supposed to surrender, I knew it began with an "A"!
Haubert had a point. Confederate General Pickett (of Charge fame) was once asked his professional opinion on whether the actions or inactions of Confederate generals Jeb Stuart and Longstreet had cost Lee the battle of Gettysburg. Pickett scratched his head, and drawled "You know, I thought the Yankees had something to do with that battle."
The North could certainly be admired for steadfast determination and resolve in the face of heavy casualties and unimaginative leadership. Despite some historians who believe that wars are always won by the side with the most men, material, and money. Viet Nam and the former Soviet Union's venture in Afghanistan seem to indicate otherwise. Occasionally, the stronger power may decide that the game is not worth the candle. The Confederacy was counting on such a decision. It did not come.
Which brings us to the second question.
Does this Mosby style Guerilla warfare stuff really work? The eminent British military historian John Keegan believes that it does not.
The guerillas understandably believe that it does. As noted, a surprisingly large number of guerilla leaders are university educated, quite literate, and prone to write books about guerilla warfare, and (modest indirection!) about themselves.
In addition to John Singleton Mosby, Lawrence of Arabia, Chairman Mao, Ho Chi Minh, and Che Guevara wrote extensively on the subject of Guerilla warfare. Indeed, among Communists, guerilla or "People's War" assumed a sort of Holy Gospel and Rite of Passage for the True Believer.
But does guerilla warfare really work?
It does and it doesn't.
It seems to work best against a foe that it bound by Judeo-Christian ethics and a strong legal code. It does not work against a determined dictatorship that is worth its salt.
Joseph Stalin killed upwards of 50 million people in various purges and induced famines and yet there was no guerilla war against him. Mao killed even more, but there was no farmers by day, fighters by night movement. against his regime. A significant number of Cubans would like to leave that island, yet there are no guerillas in the Sierra Maestra. The North Koreans are starving, yet any Green Beret parachuting in with a load of plastic explosives and translations of Tom Paine's "The Rights of Man" would find himself turned over to the police before his toes hit the ground. Tibetans would dearly love to see the last of the Chinese, but they know better than to pick off a Chinese patrol.
If we were to let Saddam Hussein out of his cell, humbly apologize and ask his assistance in ending the Iraqi Insurgency. He would smile his famous smile, say "Is THAT all?" ask for fortnight of time and 200,000 body bags and, viola! In two weeks time, the streets of Baghdad and Basra would be as quiet as Gopher Prairie, Minnesota.
Winston Churchill, who fought against the Boer Commandos in South Africa when he was in his impressionable early 20's in 1900, developed a life long fascination with guerilla warfare. After the Nazi conquest of most of Europe, he hoped to "set the Continent ablaze" with guerillas. Contrary to Allied propaganda and Hollywood, this did not happen.
Although various groups did secure intelligence and hid downed allied pilots, there was little armed resistance. According to Keegan, the German High Command did not have to detail combat troops to chase guerillas in any of the Western European countries. Even in the Channel Islands, the only part of England occupied by the Germans, the inhabitants cooperated with the occupying forces.
The reasons for this were that the Nazis would do incredibly bad things to anyone who did bad things to them. Therefore, the average European prudently minded his own business and waited for liberation by the regular armies of the allies.
In the First World War, the Ottoman Turkish Armies were destroyed by the regular British Army under Field Marshall Allenby and not by the romantic mystic "Lawrence of Arabia" and his band of Bedouin guerillas.
More recently, when Che Guevara, a white guy who spoke Spanish with an Argentine accent, showed up in Bolivia and told the local Indians he had come to lead them against the Oppressors, the bemused Indians lost no time in calling the police and terminating Mr. Guevara
Viet Nam, for better or for worse, was reunited by the Regular North Vietnamese army and not by the Viet Cong.
And what of the Confederate guerillas like Mosby? It is said that Mosby tied down large numbers of Federal troops. The problem with that argument is that Grant had plenty of troops to be tied down by Mosby, or besiege Richmond or do whatever. Could guerilla warfare have carried the day for the Confederates? An intriguing and fortunately moot question. An increasingly fanatical and delusional Jeff Davis wanted to continue the war by guerilla means and had given orders to that effect. They were ignored by Lee, Johnston and other responsible leaders. Even such a likely candidate as General Nathan Bedford Forrest said "Anyone who wants to keep this war going is crazy" and disbanded his troops. Mosby made his separate peace without surrendering to anyone.
Still, as long as the five counties of "Mosby's Confederacy retain their rural characteristics, it will be possible to imagine the "Gray Ghost" and his merry men galloping down a moonlit road, bent on some mischief to embarrass and thwart the stolid, unimaginative Yankees!
Haubert and I reached Sperryville, a pretty little wood and stone town at the foot of the Blue Ridge that has not changed much since New Hampshire and Virginia cavalry clashed on its streets in 1863. We turned off on a series of short little county roads, each more picturesque than the previous, managed to get lost, but finally managed to find the 200 car parking lot of Shenandoah National Park's biggest single money maker, Old Rag.
Since it was a Monday in December, we continued on about another mile to a much smaller parking lot which always fills up in the summer and fall and where the trail really begins.
Old Rag Mountain is a bit unusual as it is detached from the rest of the Blue Ridge and thus you get a magnificent 220 degree view of Shenandoah National Park stretching to the horizons.
The Park Service has an informational sign at the trail head suggesting that the trail can be considered "strenuous" and that no dogs were allowed and that hikers refrain from bringing along children so small that they would have to be passed up boulders to someone who would (hopefully) grab them.
There is no water on the trail and hikers are well advised to bring along plenty even in the winter time as they will definitely exert themselves.
I took the lead, not because I know so much, but because Haubert runs 10 k a day and thus can leave me in the dust if I permited this to happen. However, God has punished Haubert with joint pains as He does with all these Calvinistic runners who make sedentary people feel inadequate.
The trail is a circuit of around 7.1 miles and begins with a standard Eastern Woodland hill ascent, which means lots of trees and lots of rocks on the trail, in fact, the trail consists largely of rocks, none of which are arranged for easy walking. The trail is marked with blue blazes on the trunks of trees, something that always startles California and other Western purists. However, the trail can disappear under a billion tons of leaves, which makes the blazes handy in finding the trail.
"I wonder why they selected the color blue for this trail." Haubert asked.
"Because it was the cheapest color in Daniel Boone's time," I explained. "Boone never got lost, but there was a trade off. He was frequently captured by the Indians because he had a paint brush in one hand and a paint bucket in the other, with his trusty rifle slung over his shoulder but unavailable."
Haubert absorbed this historical fact, but said nothing.
About a mile into the hike, Haubert remarked that in all the decades he had hiked in Shenandoah National Park, he had never seen a bear, even though Shenandoah has one of the largest concentrations of Black Bear in the world.
"John," I said, "If you will look to your right about 25 yards, you will see a Black Bear."
This is one of those conversations that happen once in a lifetime. Ask and you shall receive. A yearling Black Bear had climbed up on a fallen log to get a better view of us, decided we were human and therefore not to be trusted and galloped off like a Black Newfoundland on steroids.
"Well, I'll be damned!" John observed. History had been made.
We were climbing the circuit the "hard" way, in order to get the slower, more difficult part of the trail behind us in case of a change in weather and the surety of winter darkness at five. The weather more than cooperated; going from grim grew pewter to glorious sun soaked blue sky in a matter of minutes.
At a little over 2 miles into the hike, we entered Old Rag's stone puzzle and jungle gym.
The Stone Puzzle and Jungle Gym is why more than a hundred thousand people do the Old Rag Trail and why it has its own entrance station..
The rock is Old Rag Granite, with white feldspar and blue quartz crystals, coarse and creviced, and the resulting formation resembles the crevasses of a stone glacier with crevices 6 to 12 feet deep. The rock maze trail stretches a little over a mile, which is just about right for most Cub Scout groups, church outings, and so on.
If you work at it and conscientiously try, you can get badly hurt. This is rare, but does happen, with heart attacks and weather related injuries predominating. People remember climbing it as a child, not caring to realize that their childhood was far, far away
The trail is difficult to describe except as a three dimensional maze. You go up, over and under various rocks. The only rule being to check the location of the next blue arrow painted on the rock telling you what direction to go.
I was curious about the origin of the trail. The top of Old Rag is of easy access via the long part of the circuit. There is absolutely no challenge, other than distance, even to someone using a walker. Obviously someone had discovered the stone gym and decided that HAD to be the trail. According to Trails Chief Steve Bair, the trail was pioneered in the 1930's by the Potomac Appalachian Trail Club who saw no need to get to the top the easy way, when a member discovered the stone gym and how much fun a trail could be. The Civilian Conservation Corps assisted with some discreet stone stair building from place to place.
At the summit of Old Rag, near the beginning/end of the Stone Gym, there is a somewhat peevish NPS sign exhorting scout masters and Church Youth Group leaders to maintain control of their group as the Park Service spends vast amounts of is meager budget doing search and rescue for exuberant young people who get lost in the stone maze.
This is too bad, as I am sure some bean counter of a loss control accountant in the Regional Office is going to argue for shutting down the trail as it is a search & rescue money sink. This was the case of the Lady Mountain Trail in Zion National Park which was a delightfully straight up the wall ascent of the Zion Canyon wall. As the trail was difficult to safely maintain, it was shut down.
Fortunately, this is unlikely to be the fate of Old Rag Trail as it is immensely popular, easy to maintain, and last but not least, makes money.
John and I descended quickly down the easy side of the circuit. On the way down, we examined two curious Adirondack Shelters,
The Adirondack shelter is a windowless, doorless, log cabin that is completely open on one side. It is based on similar shelters thrown up by the Long Hunters of Eastern frontier times that would be in the field for months at a time, primarily hunting for deer skins and needed a base camp to provide some shelter from the elements. It usually has a fireplace.
What made the shelters curious were NPS signs that forbade any overnight camping within the shelters or even near the shelters. This seemed to defeat the purpose of a shelter. There was no explanation. I would have to ask.
It seems that the two shelters "Byrd's Nest # 1 and The Old Rag Shelter, are relics of a quieter time in Shenandoah. At one time, backcountry use of Shenandoah was rather rare and exotic. Shenandoah was America's first windshield park in which it was expected that the vast bulk of the "visitors" would simply drive through on the top of the ridge.
Senator Harry Flood Byrd who was the prime mover for the park, thought it would be nice for the (rare)overnight hiker to have some shelter, thus he and the Byrd family donated the money for four "Byrd's Nests" or Adirondack Shelters.
Bob Marshall and the Wilderness Society could have predicted the result. If you build a structure, they will come. The shelters became goals unto themselves and as a result, there was heavy use in and around the shelters, with visible deterioration of the environment.
The obvious question is: Why not remove these attractive nuisances? Not so fast, neighbors! The Old Rag Shelter is a historic structure and the various Byrd's nests soon will be, having been constructed in the 1960's. In addition, the Byrd name is still something to conjure with even in modern day Virginia, and it would be a very confident superintendent indeed who would seek to remove them.
In addition, the shelters serve a very practical need. Rescues in Shenandoah often occur in bad weather and are often surprisingly time consuming. It helps to have a search & rescue base where one can get out of the wind and rain and even build a fire.
Haubert and I were curious as to how this regulation against using the shelters for , well, shelter, was enforced. I mean, do intrepid bands of Shelter Police fan out on the trails of Shenandoah to catch shelter sleepers in the act? Are Shelter Police closely related to the famed Sleeping Bag Police? (These are the fearless fellows that burst into your tent in the middle of the night to make sure you have not removed that tag on your sleeping bag that says DO NOT REMOVE THIS TAG?
We picked up the Weakly Hollow Fire Road and begin to notice the faint fading traces of industry. There were fallen stone fence lines and mounds of fallen rock that could have been structures. A lost civilization that was rapidly being overtaken by the fecund recycling wilderness of Shenandoah. Unlike the desert, where a single pass by a 4 wheel drive vehicle will last half a century or more, the Eastern woodland vigorously reasserts itself in a most reassuring manner. We were looking at the lost village of "Old Rag," whose traces were fainter than the Mayan ruins of the Yucatan. Settled in the late 18th century, the village boasted two churches and a post office, general store and a modest number of buildings to serve the surrounding neighborhood
Soon we were back in the parking lot. There were a couple more cars, but we had not seen another soul, except an ursine one in the entire 7.1 walk. Not bad for an Eastern Trail!
The nice thing about a walk in Virginia is that the ghosts of history are constantly peering over your shoulder as there seems to be scant few acres where SOMETHING didn't happen. Virginia has the advantage of four distinct and leisurely seasons of the year. This coming spring, we will try Old Rag when the mountain Laurel was in bloom, stopping off at the Gray Ghost winery for something to offer the spirit of that remarkable partisan.
THE SAFETY MESSAGE
I recently encountered a superintendent of a middling sized historical park and asked him if he ever read THUNDERBEAR.
The answer was in the negative for actually doing so, but positive in a desire to do so.
The superintendent's excuse was that if the present administrations computer trackers (More dedicated and assiduous than the slave catchers in "Uncle Tom's Cabin," neighbors!) were to investigate his government computer and found that he had accessed the THUNDERBEAR website, it could be deleterious to his career.
I understood and sympathized with his plight (One cannot be too paranoid in the Bush-Cheney satrapy!)
I was, however, duty bound to inform the superintendent that it was permissible, nay, even required! to read THUNDERBEAR religiously in order to obtain the Safety Message that is included in every issue! Safety as we all know is Job # 1!
I then suggested that for absolute safety, that he could sidle into the village library in civilian garb on his day off, and use the library's public computer. That seemed to be a viable solution so he accepted the THUNDERBEAR card.
For this month's Safety Talk, we shall discuss Alternative Medicine.
When I was an eager seasonal naturalist, I would frequently use that old crowd pleaser "Native American uses of plants" or Ethnobotany, as a topic for my evening campfire program.
I must say I learned as much as the audience.
My learning fell into four broad categories: (A) People really believe in Herbal Medicine; that is, God would not go to the trouble of inventing all those diseases, if He Had not also kindly hidden the cure of the various diseases in the roots, leaves, and bark of various vegetables (Sort of a Celestial treasure hunt; keeps us on our toes!)) (B) An illiterate Shaman, medicine man or Witch doctor trumps the Harvard Medical School and the Scientific Method any day of the year, (C) The American Drug companies were trying to keep these "natural" remedies from the American public due to their own greed and finally the most important educational experience, (D) These folks get REAL mad if you suggest that most of the stuff doesn't really work except as a placebo, and they WILL threaten to write their Congressperson (Who may well be a Shaman)
I was reduced to a lame plug for the Scientific Method as a possible useful tool in the quest for medical knowledge, not as a substitute for Shamanry, God forbid, but as a Co-pilot, so to speak. Even this diplomatic genuflection was not always enough as I would often be asked the Logic Question "If Native American Medicine didn't work, then how come Native Americans are still around after all these thousands of years?
Nothing to do but slap hand to Stetson and exclaim "Wow! I never thought of it that way!"
Anyways, this would be just arcane interpretive history except that it is not history but a real safety issue.
We are talking about virtually unregulated and untested "natural" remedies that make it into the market as "supplements."
Now both George Orwell and Karl Rove, "Dubya's" right hand man, realized that you've got to control the language before you can control an issue, so its was obvious to the "Alternative" drug industry, that if you were marketing an untested and potentially dangerous or useless substance, it was far, far better to call it a "supplement" rather than "dangerous and/or useless."
"Supplement" is a word with a nice cachet. It implies "reinforcements," sort of like the US Cavalry arriving in the nick of time; something added to insure success.
Generally speaking, the only "supplement" is to the bank account of the manufacturers and distributors of these additives.
Are they dangerous? Some of them are. Well now if they are dangerous, the Food and Drug Administration will keep them off the market, won't they?
Nope!
This is where Orwellian 1994 Dietary Supplement Health and Education Act (DSHEA) come into play. Incredibly, this Act does not provide for health or education regarding food "supplements" but rather exempts this stuff from stiff controls and exams that "regular" drugs such as a new antibiotic or vaccine. (In all fairness to the Bush Administration which usually comes up with the "Clear Skies" or "Healthy Forests" Newspeak double talk, the Dietary Supplement Health and Education Act was a product of the first Clinton administration, which shows that Greed can be a bipartisan matter,)
According to an article in the May 2004 issue of Consumer Reports: "DSHEA makes the FDA prove that supplements already on the market are unsafe and denies the agency all but the sketchiest information about the safety record of most of them.
In addition to some of these "natural herbs" being naturally poisonous, some of these "alternative" concoctions have been adulterated at the point of manufacture, particularly if they come from Asia... Dr. Richard Ko reported that 32% of the Asian patent medicines he tested contained pharmaceuticals or heavy metals that weren't on the label, including one "natural" prostate remedy that contained the powerful blood thinner (and rat poison) Warfarin.
Occasionally, the NPS gets involved in the "supplement" industry when a "supplier" of Saw Palmetto, Snake Root, Ginseng, Jojoba, or "Chaparral" decides to cut corners by poaching the product out of one of the National Park areas of the Southeast or Southwest.
The Consumer Reports article goes on to list some 12 "natural" herbs that are either definitely hazardous or likely to be hazardous. They include such popular items as
- Snake root, said to useful in treatment of Arthritis: but actually is a carcinogen, Can induce kidney failure requiring transplant. Banned in seven European countries.
- Comfrey. This herb is claimed to be an overall "tonic," stops internal bleeding, dysentery, and is supposed to be an all around wound healer even for broken bones. In reality, Comfrey can result in abnormal liver function and death.
- Chaparral (Creosote bush or Greasewood) is supposed to be an anti-cancer medication, fever reducer, and cure an upset stomach. In reality it can take out your liver and deaths have been reported... The FDA warned consumers in 1992, but as far as banning it, the FDA can go piss up a rope, thanks to DSHA.
- Lobella (Indian tobacco, Asthma weed, Puke weed) Claims to be a "natural" relief for Asthma and other breathing disabilities. You may find your breathing ceasing due to rapid heartbeat, low blood pressure, tremors etc. Possible causes of death. Interestingly, it is banned in Bangladesh and Italy, but not here.
- Pennyroyal (Squaw balm) Claims Relief of cold or Flu symptoms. Repulses fleas and mosquitoes. In real life it causes liver and kidney failure, nerve damage and convulsions, deaths have been reported. Needless to say, the FDA has taken no regulatory action.
The above are just a few of our favorite things. Most of this "Natural" type stuff will pass harmlessly through your gut, liver, and kidneys without harming or helping you; very much as if you went out on your lawn, dropped on all fours, and started to graze. However, some of these items are of real or possible danger.
What to do? Well, since the "Supplement" Industry has a hammerlock on Congress and thus the FDA, don't look for protection from the Government anytime soon. If you do like to take "supplements" ICONSUMER REPORTS suggests staying away from "the dirty dozen" , stay away from "supplements" for weigh control, and tell your doctor about any "supplements" you are taking as some of then, like St. John's Wort will interact negatively with real medicine.
If you look these herbal medicines up on the internet, you will get glowing and even official looking reports recommending their use. Remember they are trying to sell you something.
CR recommends the web sites of the National Institutes of Health at ods.od.nih.gov/databases/ibid.html and Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center site at www.mskcc.org./mskcc/html/11570.cfm for reliable and unbiased information.
In closing, neither myself or the Great Bear is in the pay of the Pharmaceutical Industry, and I am also fully aware that your Great aunt Sarah was saved by a prompt infusion of Quack root Oil, but that is anecdotal evidence and I don't give a good, god damn!
THE FIRST COAST
November is always the Winter of Joan's discontent. My wife does not like November. She also does not like December, January, February and March. It is not that she is prejudiced against these months; it is simply their placement on the East Coast of North America.
If November, December, January, February, and March were to happen in Hawaii and Joan were present, she would not object. It's the way God does these months on the East Coast that bothers Joan. A North East Coast Winter is cold, gray, and overcast; a time of reflection and repentance; a season of darkness lit only partially by a reluctant sun, a time of stark contrast, various shades of grays and browns in depressing combinations; leafless tree skeletons silhouetted against a leaden sky for months on end. You get the picture.
The results are predictable. November gets no respect. Girls are named April, May and June (but not July or August as no father wants the implication that his daughter is hot and humid!) October occasionally makes it as a girl's name as it is a robust, boisterous, fulfilled, sort of month, but never November. No girl is ever named "November." November is depressing. .
After a particularly grim, cold, rainy November day, Joan desperately wanted to switch channels.
"Take me to a place that is sunny and warm" she asked.
Not an unreasonable request. The correct answer would be Old Never Fail, The Golden Isles of Hawaii, where the sun shines most every day, the air is clean and balmy, the sea is warm and caressing, and the natives, being American, are friendly.
However, a trip to Hawaii would involve that old wet blanket, planning ahead; something that we had failed to do, though winter, by definition, is rather predictably wintry. We had not quite reached that Donald Trump level of instant gratification in which we could charter a jet, purchase a hotel, evict the guests and move in upon arrival
"We will go to the Poor Folks' Hawaii" I said
"What's that?" Joan asked intrigued
"South Georgia" I replied.
"Will it be warm and sunny" She asked hopefully
"It will be less miserable than it is here." I said. Not exactly the kind of endorsement the Georgia Visitors Bureau wants and certainly not a very good slogan, but I felt it would be accurate.
"What's in South Georgia?"
"Mainly the Georgia Sea Islands, of which Cumberland Island National Seashore is one, then there's Offeekenofee swamp and then there's the historic and picturesque city of Savannah."
Joan agreed.
We were able to score a cheap flight to Jacksonville on that famously no frills peanuts and pretzels airline, Southwest.
Southwest may skimp on the frills but not on the humor and a flight with them is well worth the lack of the standard airline baked hockey puck meal. The flight attendant dead panned her way through the oxygen mask instruction, telling us that "...if we had more than one child, put the mask on the one with the most potential." The captain informed us "That there was a broken cloud layer at Jacksonville, but they hoped to have it fixed by the time we got there."
In an hour and a half, we were in Jacksonville, the capitol of South Georgia (even though it's just over the line in Florida). You may not be aware of this, but Jacksonville is America's second largest city (Something happen to NYC and LA?) Actually, we are talking about area not population; for trivia buffs, Anchorage, AK is America's largest city Jacksonville has a population of 735, 617.
We quickly rented a car and headed north to explore the First Coast.
The term "First Coast" is a Chamber of Commerce advertising gimmick that has the felicity of being true.
The "First Coast" stretched from around St. Augustine, Florida, up and around the Sea Islands of Georgia and perhaps a bit beyond. It was the Anvil of Empire between the French, Spanish, and English with the Native Americans as interested "Who the hell ARE these people" more or less innocent bystanders. This is where mainland North American history really got its start.
Back in the 16th century, the "First Coast" consisted of rather spooky barrier islands and sinister swamps of bald cypress and water gum, festooned with a grey green spider webby stuff later called Spanish moss. The alligators at that time were not particularly fearful of humans and the poisonous snakes were many and in unexpected places, then worst of all, there were the insects.
At the north end of the "First Coast," up around Jamestown, Virginia at Colonial National Historic Park, the NPS used to have a motor historical trail through the park. The NPS warned you not to get out of your car or roll down the windows. There was a reason for this: If you did, the insects would come for you.
Unfortunately the early French, Spanish and English settlers had no cars to get into and no DEET to even the odds.
We headed north for less than an hour to the pleasant little town of St. Marys, Georgia, gateway to one of America's most mysterious and controversial National Park units, Cumberland Island National Seashore.
Mysterious? Controversial?
Yes, neighbors, Cumberland Island has it all! SEX! VIOLENCE! ROMANCE! FUEDS! SKULLDUGERRY! PLOTS! COUNTERPLOTS! POLITICS (local, state, and national, take your pick! So why is Cumberland Island National Seashore so controversial, mysterious, and weird?
Because it's a Southern National Park, that's why!
Actually, neighbors that is an unkind stereotype. Southerners are just like anyone else (Only more so!) However, there is a reason why writers like William Faulkner, Tennessee, Williams, Truman Capote, Joyce Carol Oates, Carson McCullers , and Thomas Wolfe set their novels and plays in the South rather than South Dakota.
People's problems, feelings and motivations are much more intense in the South than in the Midwest (as we Midwesterners are instructed early on not to make a fuss or a scene, as Garrison Keilor will tell you!)
Then there is the rapidly diminishing, but still smoldering idea that the Damn Yankees are still tryin' to put one over on the local pore folk. To some, the "Waw" is not necessarily the one in Iraq.
In addition to being Southern, Cumberland Island National Seashore is, after all, an island.
Island inhabitants are fiercely independent and fiercely defensive of their island, as Adolph Hitler discovered concerning England and we found it best to use the Atom bomb rather than invade the island nation of Japan, We have even coined a rather unkind word to describe islanders; "insular"
The insular possessiveness extends to virtually everyone who sets foot on Cumberland Island. This is my island, and by God, I have an opinion on how it is to be developed or not developed and my opinion shall prevail!
In addition to being Southern and an Island, Cumberland Island National Seashore had been private property. Private Property in present day America is sacrosanct. There is a suspicion (carefully watered and fertilized) that the "guvmint" (that is, you and I) has too much land and is somehow "locking it up," thus preventing your average unemployed street person from enjoying life as an owner of a golf course.
Actually, the reverse is true, The Great State of Texas has the greatest amount of private land but it is truly "locked up" with an unsympathetic landowner or rep holding the key (or more likely the shotgun) . Trespass in Texas is quite literally a capital offense (or at least a pistol whip- the-.hell- out- of -you offense.).
Indeed, one of the great environmental achievements of the 20th century was the deprivatization of a considerable chunk of Eastern North America. This is largely an unsung achievement of the FDR administration. Virtually every square inch of what is now hikable, huntable, seeable Eastern national forest was once somebody's corn or tobacco patch or cut over forest land. This was sold to the Federal Government by very willing sellers who were glad to have cash in hand during the Great Depression.
This "nationalization" was done quietly and without fanfare, and in truth without too much opposition. The new national forests promised work in various CCC and WPA projects, something that economically prostrate private employers could not provide. The South has reaped the benefits, with scores of communities declaring themselves the gateway to this or that national forest where one may recreate.
One might say that the unknown hero of the environmental movement is the Park or Forest Land Acquisition Officer; an unheroic figure in a rumpled cheap suit, carrying a scuffed briefcase; patient as an alligator and much more diplomatic. Listening to people's problems, sympathizing, graciously rejecting the first ridiculous price offer and negotiating down to a mutually livable price; the Land Acquisition Officer does deserve a statue somewhere.
This is particularly true of Eastern National Parks, where land had to be purchased from willing private owners rather than simply being transferred from another government agency such as the Forest Service or the Bureau of Land Management to the National Park Service as was the case in the West.
We arrived in the pleasant little gateway town of St. Mary's, which is blessed with nice restaurants and upscale book and gift shops that is no way resembles the gimcrack nightmare of Gatlinburg, Tennessee, Gateway to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
The price range of accommodations on Cumberland Island National Seashore is rather stark. There is the Greyfield Inn, a private in holding, where rooms start at $427 a night (meals included) and the NPS campground, which is $8.00 a night (cook your own). We had brought our camping gear and booked two nights in the campground.
However, there was a third alternative. We were staying at the Cumberland Inn at St. Mary's before going over to the island. The motel provided a king sized bed, free computer access, a 60 channel TV, breakfast included, and access to the town, all for $55.
The campsite offered a wilderness experience, the night sky, food cooked out of doors and conversation around the campfire. John Muir and Theodore Roosevelt would have loved it.
"Um, can't we fake the camping out part?" Joan asked.
Fair question. Joan loved camping. We had after all camped out in Olympic National Park for two weeks in July. Camping was not the issue. It was the conversation around the campfire. Unlike Olympic in July, where you can hike till 10 pm. God unplugs the sun at 5pm in November on Cumberland Island. It can get to be a long conversation around the campfire before its time to go to bed.
"After all, it's not like we haven't done it before" Joan was correct, we had camped out in Cumberland Island in December years ago, so it was a bit like getting the same merit badge twice. There was of course, the long walk on the beach to view the winter sky, but unfortunately the same pewter overcast that blanketed Washington also blanketed Cumberland Island. No star lit walk on the beach
Unlike the NPS owned Ahwahnee Hotel in Yosemite Valley where you can hike over from your campsite and have a drink or a meal with the well to do, Greyfield Inn is a private in holding, and they do not permit non guests to drop by for a late evening drink, so socializing with the rich was out as an entertainment gambit.
I had to admit that Joan had a very definite point! Let's benefit the local economy and day trip it!
We arrived at the dock and NPS contact station where I secured a copy of Charles Seabrook's CUMBERLAND ISLAND, the very readable human history of the island.
Cumberland Island National Seashore is a most unusual national park unit in that it has a quota (only 300 visitors are allowed per day) and an orientation course for the fortunate 300 is provided to insure they don't harm themselves or the island. The 300 person figure seems to be no magic "carrying capacity" that was figured out by years of tireless study by biologists and ecologists. It is simply the carrying capacity of the boats that take visitors two and from the Island twice a day. It's not very scientific, but it does provide a very good base line upon which to chart human impact on the Island's ecology.
Funny thing about parks, if you get rid of cars, you eliminate 80 to 90% of your major park management problems, at least those involving people. If you can get people to park their tin boxes outside National Parks as they already do at Isle Royale National Park, Channel Islands National Park, and Cumberland Islands National Seashore and, through lack of "progress," a number of the Alaskan national parks; then you have a safer, saner park. ).Indeed, according to a US NEWS & WORLD REPORT survey of visitor satisfaction in the national parks, The famously automobile free Glacier Bay National Park ranked number one in making the taxpayer happy.
It is to the credit of a number of entities and people; local, state and federal, that the much feared bridge or causeway to Cumberland Island and the resulting "necessary" roads, hotels, gas stations, "visitor" centers, trinket shops, jails and police stations and the rest of the rural slum that goes along with "development" of a park have yet to materialize.
After our orientation (mainly a safety and resource protection talk on the particular issues of the Island, we boarded our boat and began the 40 minute voyage through the intricate channels of the marsh and waterways to the island.
A boat ride is always a good introduction to a park. (Perhaps Yellowstone and Yosemite should be surrounded by wide moats! I always like to walk around the deck and watch the passing maritime parade, which in this locale can be everything from porpoises to surfaced submarines. (St. Mary's is home port for a considerable portion of the US undersea fleet)
Joan, on the other hand, likes to concentrate on people. She is after all, an anthropologist. Anthropology is one field when it is almost necessary to be an extrovert, indeed a very curious extrovert. An anthropologist has to ask people personal questions about why they do things. Since it is very difficult to question a stranger, unless you are a cop and have handcuffs, an anthropologist must be able to talk to strangers and turn them into friends or acquaintances in very short order. As she is a happy, open hearted and open minded person, people tend to gravitate to Joan and it is not difficult for her to make friends.
Therefore, I was not surprised to eventually be introduced Jim and Laura, day trippers down from Michigan and salt of the earth. Jim and Laura had visited the island the previous day and had come in contact with a friendly native of Cumberland Island. That lady had been so charmed by Jim and Laura that she had invited them to accompany her while she drove supplies up to a family gathering at the North end of the Island.
Now neighbors, getting a ride up to the storied north end of Cumberland Island is about as rare an event as finding a loose Green Card on the Mexican border.
Why?
Well, you see much of the north end of the Island is "Wilderness" This means that you can't take a wheeled vehicle or other engine powered gadget into the "Wilderness." Not even, and especially, the NPS. The problem is that a road, Grand Avenue, runs through the "Wilderness Area." The road is not _some new desecration; it is one of the oldest continually used roads in America, having been in use since before the American Revolution. The Island itself has been under continuous industrial agriculture and lumbering since the since the 17th century. Parts of Cumberland Island were being farmed when parts of what is now New York City was howling wilderness.
Naturally, when you have a road, and are forbidden to use it, there are always exceptions, but surprisingly enough, it was not the NPS that had the permission to drive vehicles for "patrol" or "fire" or "emergency" or some other excuse.
Instead, it is the Island residents, those who have sold their land to the NPS, but retain life time leases or hold land in fee simple, who have the right to drive cars on the Island.
People who don't have cars face a rather stiff 22 mile round trip hike if they want to see the Settlement at the North end of the Island. Thus Jim and Laura were doing us a great boon by allowing us to piggy back on their ride up to the Settlement.
The National Park Service must walk or ride horseback in the Wilderness Area. This has led to some humorous scenes such as an Island resident roaring past an NPS work party marching with hand tools to cut up a fallen tree that was blocking something or other. The resident took pity on the parkies and returned with the family chainsaw (apparently also grandfathered in) and proceeded to saw up the downed tree!
So why did the NPS paint themselves into a corner with this odd form of "Wilderness"
The answer is that it didn't. The "Wilderness" was enacted by Congress at the behest of anxious environmental groups who wished to protect the Island against -- The National Park Service!
It seems that the ebullient Director of the National Park Service George Hartzog had been asked about how many tourists a day the newly hatched Cumberland Island National Seashore could handle. With characteristic Bon Homme, Hartzog is said to have answered "Around 10,000 a day!"
Now Hartzog was an extroverted, Rotarian type of Park Boomer, very much like the First Director Stephen Mather. Like Mather, Hartzog was no ecologist and believed the more taxpayers in the park, the better for the park and the taxpayer. Indeed he coined the slogan, "PARKS ARE FOR PEOPLE" and expected his managers to take it to heart.
Environmentalists were aghast! The only way to prevent that kind of population load on Cumberland would be to prevent cars, so Congress established a Wilderness Area forbidding the use of cars except by Island Residence. This effectively eliminated Hartzog's boast of 10,000 visitors a day, but provided the NPS with a management migraine and a public relations nightmare as hikers noticed that SOME people could ride bicycles and drive cars but THEY couldn't.
Now before you jump all over poor George, you must remember the time and place. This was the one of the last undeveloped coastal areas in the Eastern United States. Even hard core preservationists and environmentalists believed that the best they could hope for was some sort of "controlled" development, with tasteful, environmentally sensitive golf courses, housing developments that would "blend" in, and small "unobtrusive" malls. Interspersed with as many natural areas as the developers would hold still for.
Even the Arch Druid, David Brower of the Sierra Club and Earth First! felt it necessary to compromise. John McPhee interviewed Brower and his adversary, the land developer Charles Fraser who had purchased 3200 acres of Cumberland Island which he planned to develop as Cumberland Oaks, a planned community. Mr. Frazer was no greedy villain and had won international fame and awards for his environmentally sensitive land development. He was in favor of some sort of national park or preserve on the Island both for aesthetic reasons and to enhance the value of his own property.
In McPhee's ENCOUNTERS WITH THE ARCH DRUID, Fraser, who thought he had won, and was feeling avuncular, asked Brower how many people could live in Fraser's development on Cumberland Island.
Brower meekly said "I wouldn't mind having a population of 20,000."
Today's limit of 300 a day is a lot less than Brower's 20,000. Charles Fraser and his Cumberland Oaks development are history. The environmentalists won an unexpected and resounding victory. It doesn't happen too often. (And with the current pack of environmental Neanderthals in office, it will happen even less!) Could the Island handle more people? Sure, as long as cars are left out of the equation. How many more? Well, that's not rightly known, neighbors. It will take some study to determine exactly what is the recreational and ecological carrying capacity of the Island.
At the moment, most people are satisfied with things the way they are, though they would dearly love to ride their bicycles through the "Wilderness Area" up to the North End of the Island (The second day we were at the dock, the interpretive ranger announced that the Powers That Be had acted and ordinary taxpayers could now ride bicycles through the "Wilderness Area " all the way to the storied Settlement at the North end of the Island.
Why is it so all fired important to get to the North End of the Island?
My God! If you don't already know, then I can't tell you!
The Settlement at the North End contains the most romantic and historical church in America: the little church where John F. Kennedy Jr married Carolyn Bissette!
TO BE CONTINUED