Lessons Learned the Hard Way

In the early 1970’s I owned a Toyota Landcruiser (“Toy”) that I came to believe was jinxed.  While this vehicle brought me plenty of pleasure in it’s ability to allow me the freedom to explore rugged terrain, it also had it’s share of tempermental moments.   For instance, once on a trip to Oregon to visit my friends Craig and his lovely wife Linda, the three of us decided to explore a slough off the Willamette river.  Along this slough, there were numerous shallow puddles of standing water that we wound around and motored through.  The shimmering water in the afternoon sunlight was an enchanting sight to behold.  So much so that I lost focus on what I was doing and drove directly into a deep hole filled with water.  Darn jinxed Toy!  “Well, this is no big problem” I thought to myself.  We can just back out of this measly little puddle.  I believe Craig just chuckled to himself as he hopped out of the Landcruiser to snap a picture.  Linda was apparently confident at this point in time, at least as far as I can tell from the picture below:

Putting the transfer case into granny-low gear, I attempted to back the Toy out of the puddle.  We were sitting on a silty surface, however, and the vehicle tires promptly dug themselves into the mud.  Darn jinxed Toy!  “Well, this is no big problem” I thought to myself.  We can just get out the high-lift jack, jack the Toy up very high on the jack, and then push the Toy over to the side, thus putting the tires on a more solid footing.  I believe Craig just chuckled to himself as he hopped into the water to help me along with this scheme.

This incident occurred over thirty years ago, and so my recollection of the exact events that transpired from here on may be a little rusty, but I think it went something like this.  Craig and I spend hours and hours trying out various schemes and methods in our attempt to free the Toy.  I recall Craig doing a lot of chuckling in the process.  I recall myself uttering a few curses.  And I recall that we were totally unsuccessful in freeing the Toy.  I had managed to flood the engine with water however, and now we had no power.  Darn jinxed Toy!  “Well, this is no big problem”  I thought to myself.  Actually, “this is now a problem” is what I really thought!

In this part of Oregon, at least back at that time, logging was in full swing.  Fortunately for me and the Toy, Craig pointed out that there was a saw mill located nearby.  It was now near midnight, and we figured (actually, Craig figured) that if we hurried on over to the mill, we might find someone to help us out of our predicament, as the mill shift change occurred at midnight.  Sure enough, we found a man with a four-wheel drive pickup sporting a winch (not an unusual sight in Oregon) who agreed to help us.  Soon, he and his winch had the Toy back up on solid ground.  This kind and helpful man even towed my now non-operating vehicle to a local service station, where we parked it for the night.

The following morning, Craig gave me a ride to the service station, where I learned from the mechanic that yes, he could drain and flush the engine, transmission, transfer case, front and rear differentials, but that it would be very costly.  Darn jinxed Toy!

The following year, while out exploring in the California desert with some friends, we had a little competition to see whether my Landcruiser F-40 could outperform their Jeep CJ5 over a rugged desert trail.  Up and down the hills and ravines we drove (in a designated ORV area, I should note) pushing our vehicles to the limit.  My Toy performed admirably in this battle of the 4WD’s, that is, up until the very last hill on the trail.  I was so thrilled over the prospect of a good showing amongst my Jeep driving friends that I lost focus once again, and drove over a large rock that I shouldn’t have.  My vehicle became high-centered on a boulder, and I was once again stuck.  Dang rocks!   Darn jinxed Toy!

Later that same summer, I again headed up north, this time to the west coast province of British Columbia, where I was keen to do some hiking.  Along the way, in Washington state, I met a nice couple who were very interested in my Landcruiser.   After much discussion about the pros and cons of owning such a vehicle, we decided to do some day hikes together.  When they learned that I was headed towards the Canadian Rockies, they offered me the use of a cabin they owned in BC.  They told me that they had built a bridge over a river that runs alongside the cabin, and that the hiking from that point was excellent.  I took them up on their offer, and so they proceeded to draw a map directing me to their remote cabin in the woods.  When I arrived at the cabin, this is what I found –

 

Parking the Toy, I investigated this old dilapidated structure.  From inside, you could see rays of daylight streaming through the roof.  There were all manner of creepy-crawlers on the floor and on the walls.  Droppings from vermin was everywhere.  This was not the type of accommodations I had expected, and I refused to stay in such quarters.  Exploring out back, I found what appeared to be some type of old storage structure, or maybe an old hog shed.  Whatever it was, it was clean inside and had a functional roof, so it became the base camp for my hiking.

Even though the cabin that the couple had told me about had not lived up to my expectations, the hiking that was available beginning across their bridge was some of the best I have ever encountered. 

After spending a week hiking and camping out in the hog shed, I decided that it was time to push onward in my journey.  As I loaded up the vehicle with my camping gear, I noticed a large puddle of fluid underneath the front of the Landcruiser.  Getting down on my hands and knees to investigate, I discovered that some critter had chewed through the lower radiator hose, thereby releasing all of the coolant from the radiator.  The vehicle was again non-operational, and I was stuck far from any village or town.  Darn jinxed Toy!  “Well, this is no big problem” I thought to myself.  Having the foresight to pack the always-essential roll of duct tape in the tool box, I proceeded to wrap the damaged hose with tape, fill the radiator with water from the river, and limp on over to the nearest town, where proper repairs were undertaken.

It was not until years later, after I had sold that Landcruiser, that I finally realized what wonderful experiences that Toy had given me.  And looking back, I can now see that I was the cause of most of my travails with that vehicle, not the vehicle itself.  So the lessons learned are A) look to yourself as the cause of your follies, and B) drive a Jeep instead of a Toyota!

Let’s turn the clock back to the year 1966.  If you were around in 1966, you would have found the following to be true:

Lyndon Johnson was President of the United States.  The new Medicare act was implemented.  The Supreme Court issued the the well-known Miranda decision.  It was a bad year for Los Angeles sports fans, as the Baltimore Orioles swept the LA Dodgers in 4 games, and the Boston Celtics bested the LA Lakers in an extremely competitive 7 game series.  The Oscar for Best Picture went to “Sound of Music”, and Frank Sinatra walked away with the Grammy award for Best Album of the Year.  On the economic front, you could buy first-class postage for a nickel.

But the most important 1966 event in the agricultural world was the introduction of the John Deere model 1020 industrial tractor.  The significance of this tractor is that it signaled to the tractor world John Deere’s intention to compete vigorously in the low cost utility tractor market.  To be price competitive, John Deere needed to cut production costs, and to that end, they developed a three-cylinder gasoline engine, which was put into their new model 1020 tractor in 1966.  This tractor is credited with starting the 3-cylinder utility-tractor engine configuration, which is so popular  among tractor manufacturers today.  Here is a picture of the John Deere model 1020 tractor, which sold for $4500 back in 1966-

This is a 1966 John Deere model 1020 tractor that is owned by my neighbor Jimmy.  This is not a “coddled” tractor restoration by any stretch of the imagination.  This is a work-a-day tractor that is put into hay production and bush-hogging use regularly.  Periodically, this tractor needs to be “convinced” as to who’s the boss.  Jimmy stores a large, heavy hammer in the tractor’s tool box for just such occasions!

Our late neighbor Boots used to cut, rake, ted, and bale the grass in our hay fields until he passed away several years ago.  Now, Jimmy is doing this for us on a share basis.  Here is Jimmy hard at work cutting the hay in preparation for baling this past season-

The hay field pictured above is one of the fields that Retta and I have decided to take out of hay production this year.  It is our hope that by keeping the fields that are close in proximity to the house and barn areas short, we will reduce the effects of predation on our fowl (see previous post).  It is also our hope that the short grass will help to create a fire-defensible zone in the areas around our house.  You may already know that we have been plagued by a spate of wildfires recently (see posts here and here).  I have read claims on other farming and ranching related blogs that tall grasses will not burn, as long as they are lush and green.  I have seen otherwise,  and until the firebug that is running around in our area is apprehended, I will rest easier with short grass surrounding the house and paddock areas.

Like all other land-use decisions a property owner faces, this decision involves various trade offs. Short grass means less cover for predators, which is our goal.  But it also means less cover for the wildlife that have learned to make effective use of the tall grass.  Birds of various species use the grasses to nest in.  Deer use the grasses for browse and for cover.  Grassy areas along the forest-field transition are used by the deer to give birth to their young.  Wildlife of all types will use the tall grasses to bed down in.  And who hasn’t heard of the proverbial “snake-in-the-grass?  The long grasses, which the wildlife have utilized up until now, will no longer be available in these fields.  Not to mention the production of several hundred square bales of hay that will be lost.

In conjunction with our decision to take several hay fields out of production, we will be compensating by allowing several other fields, such as the field shown in the photograph above, to grow to their full extent and remain tall throughout the year.  These fields will be cut on a rotating basis, such that, at any given time, long grasses will be available for the wildlife to utilize.

Some crazy, eccentric people will sure go through a great deal of trouble just to raise chickens and guinea fowl, won’t they?

Since this is the first installment of Flashback Friday, I thought it would be fitting to search for something to post that also related to a first of some kind.  When I came across these photos, my searching immediately ended.

Some years ago,  my daughter expressed an interest in learning to scuba dive.  Having a few dives under my weight-belt, I was totally thrilled at the news.  Sara enrolled in a basic open-water certification course (taught by her cousin Bruce), and after thorough training involving classroom work, pool training, beach dives, and open-water dives off of a commercial dive boat, she proudly had her C-card in hand.  Retta and I were living on a boat at that time, a trawler named Lorelei, so we said “Hey Sara, how about going out to the Channel Islands with us for some diving?”  “Sure”, she replied.  And so we did.

While we were gearing up for a dive along a shallow reef in the vicinity of the sea lion rookery on the south side of Anacapa Island, we spotted a harbor seal peeking out from the floating kelp fronds, apparently spying on us.

After finishing the ritual of gearing up and performing buddy checks on each other, Sara and I took turns entering the cool waters of the Pacific ocean with the finest back-rolls off the starboard bulwark that we could muster up.

As we descended down the water column, we could not help but be entranced by the sight of the giant kelp, which sways to and fro in the gentle surge of the sea.

As we continue our descent to the bottom, so that I can check to be certain that the anchor is securely set, we both continue to admire the surreal seascape that unfolds before our eyes.

As you gaze up at the sight of the sunlight, watching as the rays dance between kelp fronds, you can become so entranced with the moment that you don’t notice other things that surround you.  Like the harbor seal that Sara and I saw from the deck of the boat.

Because we had been so intent in our focus on the kelp, this harbor seal felt secure enough to approach us.  After spending a little while with us, the seal lazily swam off into the kelp forest.  Sara and I continued our dive, examining the various creatures that one is likely to encounter in the area, including a curious California sea lion.

They say that all good things must come to an end, and so it was with this dive.  Sara and I made our way back towards the boat.  Locating our anchor line, we were about to begin our ascent when we spotted another harbor seal, apparently their to bid us adieu!

Slowly ascending along the anchor chain, we made a safety decompression stop at a depth of 15 feet.  When the required time had elapsed, we both made our way over to the swim platform, where we boarded Lorelei and stripped off our gear.  This had turned out to be a wonderful day.  The sun was shining.  The seas were calm.  The visibility underwater was excellent.  The marine life had been exceptionally cooperative.  But most important, Sara’s maiden dive as a certified diver turned out to be a great one!

And Sara’s papa was proud.

Don’t dare click this link unless you know anyone in this picture!  I mean it.  Stop! Don’t do it!  I’ll tell on you.

Sometimes Retta will toss stale bread and other tidbits out on the lawn for the crows to enjoy.  There is one crow who will often come near the kitchen window and pester Retta with it’s cawing until she tosses something out for it.  This got me to thinking about a crow I met some decades ago, in the badlands of Death Valley

Death Valley was one of my frequent haunts decades ago, and I would try to visit the area twice per year.  One of my favorite hikes extends from the valley floor, up through the steep, narrow walled Golden Canyon, and on to Zabriskie Point (at the very upper right in the photo above).  At the very left top of the photo is a landmark called Manley’s Beacon.  Here is a closer view of Manley’s Beacon:

The area around Manley’s Beacon is a rugged, but very beautiful area, so I made it a habit to pack a lunch and spend a few hours poking around the area for photo ops, or looking for fossils, or just enjoying the scenery.

One day, as I was eating my lunch, I heard the distinctive “caw, caw, caw” of a crow echoing throughout the area.  The cawing continued for quite a while, and seemed to originate from a draw some distance away.  Suddenly, on a whim, and knowing that I was out of earshot of any other people, I began my best imitation of a crow.  Soon, the crow began to mimic my cawing patterns.  I kept this up, and much to my surprise, the crow flew over to where I was sitting.

Well, I certainly didn’t want to get a reputation for being inhospitable, and since I was eating lunch, I offered the crow a morsel or two (okay, so I shared half my lunch with him, so what?).  The crow spent a good deal of time with me on that rocky outcropping, but refused to come any closer than a few yards away.  He looked nervous about being even that close to me, but I suppose his fondness for people food trumped his fear.

On my next trip to Death Valley, several months later, I hiked up to the same area and soon settled in to eat my lunch.  I began a chant of “caw, caw, caw”, and before long, my chants were being echoed by some crow in the distance.  This time, as the crow approached the outcrop, he showed no sign of hesitation, and proceeded to land almost on my boot.  We had lunch together, and then he left.  I believe it was on this second encounter with him, that I began to call him “Squawk”.  It just seemed to fit.

This routine went on for a few years.  Whenever I would visit Death Valley, it now became a necessity to hike up to Manley’s Beacon, just to see if Squawk would show up for lunch!  It almost became an obsession.  About five years after my first encounter with Squawk, I again returned to the area, and being a creature of habit, again went to visit my “friend” the crow.

Before too long, as had become the routine, Squawk responded to my calls, and joined me for lunch and a little socializing.

But this time, Squawk had a surprise for me.  Squawk was not a he, but a she.  At least, that is what I now presume.  For Squawk had brought along a guest for lunch, and he certainly appeared to be more the virile sort than Squawk.

As it turned out, due to life’s twists and turns, that was the last time I ever had the opportunity to visit with Squawk and her mate.  I do wonder, from time to time, what ever became of them.