SB 31 Story time - Bear Claws, Singing Coyotes, Bees and Ancient Serpents
Story Time! SB31 Bear Claws, Singing Coyotes, Bees and Ancient Serpents
By David M’Greene
As usual, I leave the numbers and science stuff, i.e., a real report, to others. In this case, my pal Scott Gibson who is now acting as SB31 Area Captain until a new volunteer steps up. What is it about going out into the heat with Scott Gibson every July? Scott had mentioned he would have to go, and I usually volunteer to go with him because he is my favorite Navy guy. But this one had a little more going on with it than the usual "let's just go out there to get away from work" kind of projects we typically do. This one had Andrew Pontious attached to it. He was the Area Captain for SB31. For Andrew Pontius and his legacy, I guess I had to get involved. Before I go on, in my way, I would tell you that it is a sobering experience to trek through a remote wilderness and see the remnants of footsteps left from before you came. Were any of these made by Andrew? When my time comes, what will I leave behind in my beloved remote landscapes and who will come that will then ponder who I was, and thus, know me?
Located in the Sheephole Valley Wilderness, The Bear Claws Drinker System, SB31 sat in disrepair. Andrew had reported that slices had appeared in the tank walls. The slices were large enough that a dangerous number of bees were getting into the tanks and they were not getting out of the tanks. An emergency repair would be necessary. I had agreed to go with Scott Gibson when he made the trek as I do not, hypocrite that I am, believe it is wise to go into the remote desert alone. There were delays in our scheduling, and so naturally, when the stars aligned and both Scott and I were available, it was on a weekend that happened to have a record setting heat event occurring. Naturally. Anticipating temperatures above 115 degrees, I agreed to spend the night at Scott Gibson's home to help facilitate an early departure. The plan was to on July 7th, be up at 0300, on the road by 0330, and at the trail start in the wilderness at sun up.
I left work on Saturday the 6th of July at about one in the afternoon. Scott and his wife Kathy were waiting for me when I got to their place. They served me an incredible cut of beef and extended too much pleasant hospitality. The conversation was easy and ranged in topic from the Bighorn, rescued tortoises, our little dogs, and of course, about my love for my chickens. At some point during the meal, Kathy made it very clear to me that I was not allowed to let Scott unalive himself on this trip. After the meal, Scott and I went to his garage to pack our loads and evaluate the equipment we would be taking with us. Scott had told me it was a two mile hike in each direction, and so in anticipation of triple digit heat I had brought an extra water bladder that I do not normally use. We turned in not as early as we should have for our only a few hours into the future departure.
Scott had recently gotten himself a brand new diesel Jeep Gladiator. I have long thought they look goofy, but the drive to the Sheepholes was my first time in one. It was a nicer ride than I would have guessed. Arioch would be upset if he heard the approval I shared with Scott. Scott lamented how loud the ride was, but honestly, I have no idea what he is going on about. You want loud? Let me take you somewhere in Arioch's Jeep Cherokee. I will turn the radio on for you, but you will not know what is playing. We arrived shortly after sun up. On schedule! Scott explained on the way up that this location has the distinction of being the longest drive through wilderness of any of our drinker systems. There is an island of private mining land that you go through en route, but then it is all wilderness again. I would hate to have to ruck march that road in the heat and I can see why no one hunts that inaccessible area. When we exited the vehicle at the temporary tank location, I got to enjoy the song of the coyotes. They were laughing and they were mocking us. But I enjoyed the music regardless. Their tales were of the coming of the white man and how he would not leave. Having heard this one before, I tuned out the content and enjoyed my Entenmann's cherry pie. Scott busied himself with checking on the temporary tank installed at the parking location and then it was time to be off.
We had not gone far when a rattlesnake gave us a warning and headed away from us. We took some photos and videos because that is just what you do. Scott, an amateur herpetologist, identified the species as Crotalus oreganus. The sex was female. An impressive display of knowledge! But I saw him using an app on his phone, so maybe I am not as impressed as I pretended to be. We listened to the snake ramble and rattle as she made her way up and away through some rocks. We continued our trek with the conversation turning to how many snakes I had seen on the hike to Eagle Feather Drinker. Short answer, more than I have ever seen anywhere else. Soon we were picking up our first of several mylar balloons. That has us talking about Disneyland. Then about fires. Which led to our remembering of Andrew and my above mentioned ponderings. I also learned about Terry Andrews since he was the only guide that knew the magic formula for being successful in this particular wilderness. I guess I now know the formula too.
Quick side story here: As we began the hike that Scott still insists is two miles, I felt an uncomfortable heat upon my back. Since it was my first time in years using a camelbak water reservoir, I at first assumed it was just the water being uncomfortably hot from having been in the back of Scott's Gladiator overnight. But as I thought about it, that did not really make sense since at most the water would have been about eighty degrees. It would take me two weeks to discover that a bear spray canister had exploded in the trunk of the Crown Vic and covered the pack with its fluid. Every time I would sweat wearing that pack, it would create a painful hot spot where the pack was in contact with my back and neck. I had my wife checking my back convinced I had sunburn or a rash. It really was painful. And I never feel pain (Unless it is from words. Those hurt.). Since I hike at least five days a week, that was a lot of pain over the two weeks before I started moving things in the trunk and discovered the ruined bear spray can. Read my past contributions for other examples of how slow I am sometimes.
In a short amount of time, the Bear Claw System was before us. Clearly, the hike was less distance than Scott had claimed. Felt like half a mile at most. I think Scott needed a rest, but that is probably because when he was in the Navy, he got to ride everywhere. Me, being just a lowly Army guy, I have the experience of wearing my boots out all the time while rucking everything on my back. To his credit, Scott recovered quickly and was very excited to start the process of documenting the damage, evaluating the drinker box itself, and checking the cameras. There was no shortage of bees in the area. The drinker box was clogged with a mush of water and bee corpses. The constant buzzing and the cloud of bees surrounding the box had me wondering if the bees could even become a nuisance to the Bighorn. We started unpacking the tools and a rain gauge that I had brought that would work to show us water height via a cellular hunting camera. We knew the real heat was coming and the plan was to be back at the vehicle by ten hundred hours.
The main damage consisted of slices right through the sides of two of the tanks. The slices had been made by cables that forty years ago had seemed like a good way to secure the tanks from sliding away from one another. We live and we learn. We modify how we do things. That is why we are getting away from above ground tanks. Scott was upset with the stupidity of the whole thing. Who would have ever expected the cable to become a saw? Luckily, Scott had spent some time looking at the photos that had been submitted in the Area Captain Report (Do your reports!!), and so he had prepared a plan for repairs that just the two of us could execute. His first step was to seal the cuts. I always half jokingly/very seriously suggest the Flex Seal family of products. Scott took my suggestions one step further and brought a roll of industrial thickness, gorilla strength sealing tape. Very robust stuff, it went on with minimal fuss once we had the backing removed. The next step was to put flashing over the seal to protect it from being pulled apart and from UV exposure. Battery powered die grinders, drills, and screwdrivers also made quick work of that step. To eliminate the shine of the flashing material, I had brought up an aerosol can of spray paint. The same camouflage tan color that is all over Arioch's Jeep Cherokee. The final bit of attention I gave the tanks was the installation of the rain gauge. While I finished that installation, Scott got out his mask and his hood.
What is the difference between a martyr and a glutton for punishment? Survival. What makes a good artist great? Knowing when to stop.
Scott did not like the low water level in the drinker box and he wanted to reset the float height. He also did not like how many dead bees were in that box. So, he started to bundle himself up into the poor man's version of a bee suit. Except not even close. Kathy's words came back to me now; "Under no circumstances should you allow him to unalive himself." Casually, I let Scott know that I had two epi pens at the ready. Scott's excitement about getting stung was contagious. Somehow we both came up with the idea of creating smoke at about the same moment. We gathered up some dry brush and stacked it around the drinker box. Scott had no way of making a flame and I spent a moment thinking about giving him my flint and striker. That would have been funny to watch. I retrieved my lighter for him. I moved up a ways above the drinker box and prepped my Fireade 2000 extinguisher as Scott lit the brush we had collected. It went up scary fast! The bees almost instantly took to the air fleeing Scott and coming right at me! I don't want to toot my own horn here, but it is a testament to my fortitude how I held my ground. Of course I stayed very still. I was filming a video that you can see on the Facebook page. As I watched Scott on the small screen in my hand, I also watched the bees crawling all around my shirt in my reflection on the camera screen. Slowly I used my other hand to pull my collar tight before any of the bees found their way in. Scott was at this point aggressively shoveling dead bees out of the drinker and the only breach he had suffered was down his pants at his back side. Somehow, he did not get stung. Now the fire was out and Scott was still trying to get the drinker box lid off. Watching the video, you realize that it had only taken a few minutes. But I can tell you that at ground zero, it sure seemed like a lot more time was going by. By the time Scott got the lid back on, I had the hibbie jibbies pretty hard and would have sworn I could feel the bees crawling around inside my clothes. But it was not the case. Both Scott and I walked away unstung and without having caused a single bee fatality. Heroic. And more than I can say about a particular Spring Survey where Arioch and I decided to have lunch at the ruins of The Goldome Mine. All I will say about that one is that I have experience with Africanized Bees chasing us for over half a mile
Second side story: I have, at different events, been told that my backpack is too heavy. It has never been explained to me in a way that I can understand, exactly what the concern is. Just go ahead and either (A.) Let me hurt myself. or (B.) Be impressed when I rescue you. If I don't have it, you don't need it. That said, I wanted to mention the fire extinguisher. The Fireade 2000 is a small fire fighting can that is about the size of a bear spray canister. A perfect size for carrying on backpacking expeditions as the danger of sparking wildfires gets greater and greater every year. I have personally used the Fireade product to put out fires on a random big brain's boat at the dock, and on my own personal big brain Arioch's Jeep Cherokee. I vouch for the product putting out a fire. A really nice feature is that it does not leave a powdery mess like CO2 type extinguishers. But..... On Facebook, I wrote a comment about the fire extinguisher being good for putting out fires, and in a pinch, dropping bees. Having had an 800 pound (Not a misprint!) beehive at our shop suddenly become Africanized, I know for a fact that powder type extinguishers can save you in a pinch. What I don't know is if the Fireade type will also drop bees. I mention this so that at some future date, I don't have Kathy or another upset wife screaming at me about how she told me not to let Scott unalive himself. Sooner or later, I am sure I will have the opportunity to test the extinguisher against some aggressive bees, and I will be sure to submit an update. In the meantime, if any readers have the answer, send me an email.
So, mission accomplished, Scott and I began to pack our belongings and our litter. We applied a contact info SCBS decal to the drinker box and we said our farewells to the bees. The hike back to the Jeep Gladiator (not as goofy looking as a Cybertruck) was during a hotter part of the day, but Scott opted to take us on a short cut and I think it cut off about a quarter mile of the return hike by having us do a little circle up a side hill. We picked up more mylar balloons. We found an ewe's remains. Pictures were taken. Colleagues, past, present and future were spoken of. We traded Army/Navy type jabs at one another. Pretty sure I won. It was a surprisingly pleasant morning. We made it back to the vehicle eight minutes after ten. We still had the long drive out, but the Gladiator's Air Conditioner made that into an enjoyable sight seeing opportunity for me. On Scott's dashboard, the instruments claimed it was 117 degrees outside. But it barely felt like it when I got out to lock the gate at The Wilderness boundary. Probably because it was such a dry heat. Oh yeah, and because my back already felt like it was on fire.
As usual, after getting home, going through the pictures, watching the videos, etc, etc, I slept. And I dreamt. Three dreams actually. The Trickster Coyote. Telling me funny tales of overstayed welcome. The Messenger Bee. Droning about the history of those insect workers that go unseen. The Harbinger Rattlesnake. Asking if you want it darker? They yip, buzz, and hiss in Laurentian, so it slows down my ability to interpret. I will only share the one I could understand. But maybe, at some future time, around the campfire, I will share my interpretation of the others.
What The Rattler Said:
I will move for you. It is easier than when you perceive a threat and take it upon yourselves to defend "your way." Hubris. Save your stone throwing. We rattle to warn you and you decide it is an attack. Stupid half things. To think how we tried to help you. You can not see what we do or even in the colors we perceive. Your lack of an ability to taste the very air is pathetic to us. If you could feel the ground as we do, perhaps you would not be so self destructive. Or self absorbed. But for all our gifts, we are the ones you cursed. Thus the weariness we show your compromised kind.
We were ancient when you came. And perhaps naive. We thought in terms of generations and thus could not recognize the threat that your kind with your warm blood are. Your lack of awareness was heartbreaking and we knew lament for your handicap. In those days, before you bred so prodigiously, we took pity on your weak forms and we offered to help. Such was the way of things between neighbors in that Ago Garden. We showed you the way to knowledge not knowing how you would corrupt it. For our gift, you named us The Ancient Serpent Deceiver. You brought upon us the curse that we shall forever more crawl upon our bellies and be shunned by your kind whose first instinct when gifted knowledge was to lie to your very creator.
And you call us The Deceiver? You create fairy tales and simplify events into impossible stories filled with made up nonsense because it is easier for you than remembering the truth that is at the very heart of your kind. You have even corrupted the source of your knowledge and our curse. An Apple? Really? Would it humor you to know that the true original fruit is kept on display? Our only reward, that display humors us. Maybe we would deceive you if you gave us the chance. But we will never know because your kind goes out of its way to remain slave to your own deceptions. Superior intellect indeed.
You change our world and the natural order and you pretend not to see. How can you when you are so busy fighting amongst your own kind, forever divided into factions, telling yourself about your own righteousness? You believe in your own dominance over the natural? You even fight about the fact that you have changed something. If you did it for ignorance's sake, we would perhaps understand you better. We Serpents are Legion, watching in silence. You get excited when you blindly walk into one of us, never noticing how we are all around you. Watching. We have never wished you ill. Despite what stories you create, we have never plotted for vengeance. Can your self importance accept that? Or will you insist we gave chase?
We are The Cold. We lack passion. Thinking in generations, we have always known that Man is Man's own worst enemy, He will do the avenging for us. Our kind are confident liars, but we do it so much less than your kind. And every word I have given you here is truth and prophecy. This is why I will move for you. If you with your kind's egotistical arrogance will but let me.
Thanks for a great time Scott. I look at the photos of the repairs and I feel pride in what was accomplished. Your Rattlesnake, like me, probably does not know what she is talking about. And I really do like your Gladiator. Seriously.