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Jumps to these sections: (click on section name to go there, then on 'top' hand to come back here)
Rob's Summary
Kathleen's Report
Historical Stuff
Rob's Day-by-Day Report
Epilog, Work Summary, Bird/Animal Lists
Novela: No Middle Ground, A Wilderness Story
Links
Photo Banks
Bank 1
Bank2
Bank3
Bank4
Bank5
Bank6
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"To put your hands in a river is to feel the chords that bind the earth together." Barry Lopez, Author Summary: This is a lengthy tale about our 55 days living in, enjoying, and helping the forest service (FS) in the largest designated wilderness area in the lower 48 of the United States. Because of our love for our public lands, we wanted to give something back, and this is one way we chose to do so. It is a shame what bushco and the lack of attention/care from the public is wreaking on our public lands. If you are a citizen who enjoys clean water, clean air, open space, wildlife, the perpetuation of species diversity, an opportunity to experience or even think about solitude, a chance to preserve some of what America was, then you are a supporter of wilderness. If you are a republican, then you know that bushco has raped and distorted all republican values of fiscal responsibility, smaller government (less administrators, yet not less of those who provide services), and personal freedom, ruining our public lands and liberties and replacing values, truth, people-friendly policies and services with slogans; and, you are a wilderness supporter. I hope these tales contain something for you. If not, perhaps you will enjoy the photos or the liberally-sprinkled quotes. "Leave it as it is . . . The ages have been at work on it, and man can only mar it." Theodore Roosevelt The daily journal entries typically start with what I feel is a word picture from the day. A description of the rest of the day follows. Enjoy. "And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Kathleen's Summary Volunteer Summer in the Wilderness -
Rob and I had an opportunity this summer to spend two months in the Wilderness. We were volunteers for the U.S. Forest Service at the Little Creek Guard Station in the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness in central Idaho- 2.2 million acres, the largest wilderness in the lower 48. Our assigned duties were somewhat vague but turned into building close to 400 feet of fence, clearing pasture, caring for stock, some trail /cabin work, and, most important according to our “boss”, Ranger Tommy, maintaining cordial public relations! These are tough times for the Forest Service. The Frank Church is certainly unlike any other wilderness I’ve ever seen. Instead of the isolated, quiet, pristine quality one might expect, it’s an area of incredible contrasts. The Middle Fork of the Salmon River (wild and scenic designation) with its class 3 and 4 rapids bears unbelievable traffic. More than 10,000 people float down this river each year. Both commercial and private parties come, boats laden with all the culinary comforts offered by 5 star hotels. There are more than 35 air strips in this Wilderness and the one at Indian Creek is Idaho’s busiest “airport” in the summer! Developments with individually owned 3000 square foot “cabins” and several stately private lodges share space here. One closest to the Little Creek cabin was recently purchased by a New York banker who occasionally hosts some rather grand parties. One morning as we were digging holes for the new fence, we saw plane after plane coming into the air strip above us. We found out later these were the flights bringing the masseuse, the yoga and pilates instructors, the Sun Valley chef and the special foods to make sure all the guests had a perfect holiday. But at the end of the weekend, none had taken a walk down to the river or around any of the trails to see some of the real life here. Fortunately, for Rob and me, we had the time to take a walk, see the land, sit by the river and watch the critters up close and personal. Thankfully, the Frank Church is not all fancy dwellings and human comforts. There is splendid wildness which we were privileged to observe. In the pasture around our cabin we saw pileated woodpecker, rubber boa and bull snakes, blue grouse families,and rabbits. River otters went floating leisurely by enjoying their own private picnic. We saw a ground squirrel outside our kitchen window balancing precariously on a currant bush. He was edging slowly up the branch attempting to savor every last bit of fruit eventually hanging on by one little foot before plunging to the ground and scampering off. Our cabin’s pet deer enjoyed the salt lick every morning oblivious to the hammering/nailing from our fence building. We also ventured out and hiked up to several Forest Service fire lookouts. They’re not much used anymore - lack of personnel due to budget cuts and airplane watches. We spent the night in Big Baldy Lookout and thanks to the wall of windows were treated to a radiant, rainbow colored Idaho sunset that lasted well over an hour. Our contact was not all with nature. People took up a lot of our time. Most visitors come by raft or private plane -the airplane campers there for weekend fishing/relaxing. There was also the group of wounded soldiers from Iraq flown in by the New York banker showing his kind and gentle side. By far, though, the most memorable people we met were the ones in the U.S. Forest Service. People like Wilderness Ranger Idaho Cowboy Joe. He, like so many others, is seasonal and has to guide trips in his off time to make ends meet. He hopes that one day he can buy back some of the land they had to sell off to pay for his dad’s nursing home care (hmm, health care, just one of those issues being ignored by the current administration). He sat in our kitchen eating pancakes and tolerating our weak coffee talking about life in the trenches of the Forest Service. We learned about people forced into early retirement, privatizing and outsourcing, the deplorable conditions of the trails due to lack of workers/money, the extremely low morale because of job insecurity. But he also shared with us the joy of being out on the trail with his stock -1 horse and 4 mules - and taught me the perfect way to scratch a mule’s ears for its maximum delight. Joe and the many others we met (river rangers, the Native American interpreters who spoke of living in closeness and harmony with the land, the researchers and other technicians) are there - putting up the good fight, doing what they do because they love it and care about the earth and its creatures. We environmentalists have had an uneasy relationship with the U.S. Forest Service and its “multiple uses” agenda, but I can report that those in the trenches love the wild places and wild things as much as we do. Morale among the worker bees could not be much lower than it is right now. Privatizing, outsourcing, dependence on volunteers, downsizing, commercializing our public lands. Sound familiar? Of course, Bush and his rapacious friends make Reagan (of “you’ve seen 1 redwood tree you’ve seen ‘em all” fame) look like an environmentalist. Two years ago as the celebration of the Wilderness Act took place, Forest Service employees were told not to mention it. Full scale sell-off/demolition of the public’s land continues unabated. Is there any hope? After working and living there this summer, I am cautiously optimistic. It’s true, people mess things up, but it’s people who can make things right, too. There is hope because of the people in the Forest Service who are like you and me and do what they do because they love it and not for the money (they get precious little of that). The Forest Service has the unenviable mission to keep everyone “using” the Wilderness happy - hunters, boaters, hikers, airplane campers, private property owners, environmentalists. How to bring those disparate elements together for the health of our earth? There’s a reason Frank Church’s name was added to the River of No Return Wilderness title back in 1984. How many of us can even remember when Idaho had a progressive, conservation-minded, liberal politician elected to high office? Frank Church was Senator from 1956 to 1980. And even though he knew his election was in jeopardy, he still championed the creation of the Central Idaho Wilderness, ignoring self-interest to do the right thing. He pioneered the local citizens, local solutions approach to wilderness. He said, “Let’s do this right. Let’s include as much of the undeveloped land within the watershed of the Middle Fork as possible while excluding as much of the commercial mining claims and private property as we can.” Frank Church was a consummate politician, a politician in the best sense of the word. Polis – the people in all our diverse interests, claims, biases, values, Church recognized and respected different interests from the environmental purists to timber/mining and private property owners. If there had been no Frank Church, there would probably be no FC-RONR Wilderness today. It’s hard to believe that we actually need politicians when we think of Bush and Co continuing to strip away the public from our public lands. We need good people elected to public office, people with the intellect and compassion of Frank Church. Please remember that the environment is about health and welfare when the next elections come around, and hold a kind thought for those who provide proper stewardship to our public lands. After my experience in the Wilderness this summer, I have to believe that the land will prevail and a new day is coming, but only we can make that happen. Working together with people like Ranger Joe, a brighter environmental future and preservation of wilderness/protection of natural resources is possible. Benjamin Franklin said it well. We must all hang together or assuredly we shall all hang separately.
Historical stuff: The Middle Fork of the Salmon River originates 20 miles
NW of Stanley, ID, with the merging of Bear Valley and Marsh Creeks. It traverses portions
of the Challis, Payette, and Salmon National Forests as it flows 106 miles NE through one
of the deepest gorges in North America before joining the Main Salmon River. The MF was
one of the original eight rivers in the nation designated as Wild and Scenic on October
2, 1968. In July of 1980, The "Frank Church - River of No Return Wilderness" was established,
which encompasses the Wild and Scenic River in its entirety. It passes through a landscape
of rugged peaks and deep valleys. Near its junction with the Main Salmon are the Bighorn
Crags, one of the most rugged and wild mountain ranges in the nation. Only a few trails,
landing strips, private ranches, and Forest Service stations are evidence of man's
presence. It is this combination of rugged scenic beauty, quiet isolation, and the
challenge of wild water that draws people to the MF of the Salmon River. The 2.3 million-acre Frank Church, through which the river runs, includes parts of
the Bitterroot, Boise, Challis, Nezperce, Payette and Salmon NFs. (From the MF of
the Salmon - a Wild and Scenic River, map and guide, USFS, 1986.) Author's note: some mistakenly believe that Ronny Reagan signed the Frank Church
into law. This is not so, for Reagan was pro-corporation and pro-deficit. It was
Jimmy Carter who officially designated this grand wilderness, in the Summer of 1980.
What Reagan signed was an addition of Frank Church's name to the wilderness, not long
before he died. Rob's Day-by-Day Report:
I am writing from river mile 35, alongside the rolling, roiling MF Salmon, flowing wild and free through the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness (FCRONRW; FC). Kathleen and I have been here two days now, and things have been hectic enough that this is my first chance to jot down notes. We started from Smog Lake on Tuesday morning, having buttoned up the house. We paused in Pocatello to visit Bruce P and drop off reserve beer and charcoal - hoping to see him and Judy early in July. Continuing North, we stayed two days at my mother's home in Idaho Falls, doing maintenance stuff before the final shopping and back on the road to Challis. It rained some as we gift-wrapped the truck (in a tarp) - attempting to prevent excessive sun damage over the two months it would be parked at the Middle Fork Ranger District - Forest Service (FS) work area in Challis, Idaho. Finally, we are completing our paper work with Tommy G. of the FS, and early the next day finds us loading the bush plane for the jaunt into Thomas Creek Field. It is raining, obscuring the crags and streams - at least for the long-distance view. Luck is with us, for Colby, Josh, and Taylor of the MF weed crew are here at Thomas Creek airfield to help us lug the many boxes of food from the field, down the hill and across the river, and into our home for the next nearly two months - Little Creek GS. Ahh, the minutia slips away as the river rolls, steadily, lustily. "Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts." Rachel Carson After unloading, K, Tommy, and I walk over to the MF Lodge to meet caretakers Shelda
and Scott F., Ray, Georgia, and Jake, and enjoy some coffee while Tommy conducts FS business.
What an overly-opulent estate! It does seem out of place - all these luxury cabins, a hot
springs-fed swimming pool. Although a natural hot springs (HS) was de-watered in the
process of providing a pool for the uber-wealthy. Not all sad, the HS apparently also
provide heat for the residences. All these contrasts on the banks of this grand 100 miles
of wild and scenic river.... how does one make sense of this ostentatious affluence amidst
the complex simplicity of the FC? Sit back, enjoy the view, watch and listen to the timeless
river surging, burbling, rolling, roiling, thundering and slithering along toward the Main
Salmon, to the Snake, to the Columbia, to the Pacific. Roll on Middle Fork, wild and free! "Let us spend one day as deliberately as Nature, and not be thrown off the track by every nutshell and mosquito's wing that falls on the rails." Henry David Thoreau "In a country where nature has been so lavish and where we have been so spendthrift of indigenous beauty, to set aside a few rivers in their natural state should be considered an obligation." Senator Frank Church from Idaho River level today is about 3.3 feet. As this log progresses, river levels will be given. "Have we come all this way, I wondered, only to be dismantled by our own technologies, to be betrayed by political connivance or the impersonal avarice of a corporation?" Barry Lopez, Arctic Dreams 6/18/2005 Little Creek settling in. The light is fading on a busy day in the MF Salmon. Today we tried to get gear where it should be and store food properly, and clean the cabin a bit. K cooked a lovely chili and baked some potatoes - and we invited the weed crew for dinner. Josh, Colby, and Taylor form the entire week crew for the MF Salmon. Yikes, so much terrain to cover in the short Summer season. The day was invested in hauling pieces of railroad ties down from the air field - they
will eventually form the base for an explosives cache. We also removed faded postings from
the bulletin board and stapled some new info there. Sitting out on the grassy veranda for
breakfast, a dory stopped and Jim tossed several hearts of romaine up the bank, stating
"I'm just heavy on the romaine and want you to have some of it." Lovely. Western Tanagers,
waxwings, a kingfisher, four Canada Geese and several goslings, night hawks, raven, magpie,
and the camp deer are what we saw from the veranda while eating oatmeal with raisins. Yum.
High temperature today was about 63 today in the shade. "In rivers, the water that you touch is the last of what has passed and the first of that which comes; so with present time." Leonardo da Vinci 6/19/2005 Happy Father's Day, Mr. Grouse. My adrenaline-spiked heart starts to slow as the exploding puff ball settles to the side of the trail a mere three feet away and begins clucking and cackling. Whew, a Blue Grouse, so close I can easily see the red pigment of skin over his eye. Cluck, bob, fan the tail, peck at some grass, cackle, it all seems so natural and easy. No wonder their ilk have earned the moniker "stupid chicken." Happy Father's Day, Mr. Grouse! We're on our way to Thomas Creek, on the South side of the MF. We stop in at State Land river camp right to scan for trash and river booty. None here. But earlier in the day, as we walked the wildflower-infested bench on the North side, we stopped in at State Land Left to find some leather gloves carefully left at the beach for us. The flowers are thick and more varied than usual, and we have see Bitterroot, Mariposa, Lupine, Phlox, Arrowleaf Balsamroot, wild rose, and lots of stuff I cannot currently name. Earlier in the day, we visited Hood Ranch and the Sunflower HS nearby. It's a gooky mess of dark sulfurous mud, churned by numerous deer, elk, and bighorn sheep hooves in search of mineral elixir burbling from the flats. Yet, this churning makes HS pool construction of limited value, and we find no decent pools, just a few silted attempts to dam the flow. Our total mileage today was perhaps 7 miles. There were no visitors at the cabin today. High in the low 70's, with the low near 40 degrees. We began training the three FS horses and two FS mules (or, perhaps they began training us) to come to the sound of a hammer banging a metal bowl, paired Pavlovian-style with delightfully delicious feed pellets. Today was easy because we did the pairing after the horses had arrived at the back pasture fence. The real test of conditioning will come when we clang to them from their usual spot on the benches downstream of the Sater Cabin. The Sater Cabin is the remnant of the original homestead, and perches on the point down by the river where it bends back to the East. It appears to be the oldest building here, but Tommy says the really old building is the tack shed, and no one is quite certain how old it is. (Ranger Rick of Indian Creek RS later told us that his great-grandparents lived in the tack shed in the 1940's, working for the FS.) Harrah of gambling fame originally owned the MF Lodge. Harrah later sold the MF Lodge, sometime it was briefly owned by the Nature Conservancy, and the current owner is from New York. That's probably more than you wanted to know about the buildings near by. "While progress should never come to a halt, there are many places it should never come to at all." Paul Newman for The Nature Conservancy 6/20/2005 Snowstorm on the MF? The fluffy storm of white blows over the path of the sun and across the rolling river. Yikes, is it snow in June? And almost the Solstice too? Yes, it's the longest day of the year tomorrow, and, no it's not snow but a flurry of cottonwood fluff wafting by on a heat-driven breeze. It's evening, and we've just returned from State Land Camp Left, cavorting with the crew and guests of Canyon outfitting, eating dutch oven apple cobbler with whipped cream, a bit of Caesar salad, a touch of beer. Yum, and thanks to the gracious crew. (http://www.canyonsinc.com/index.php) After dinner, we headed out for a short hike. Along the way, the scrumptious odor of grilling drifts by as we hiked the benches between the airfield and the MF. We spot Mahoney Creek Lookout high on the distant mount, glowing faintly like beckoning Phoenicians of yore. The day started warm and grew nearly hot. We hacked brush from around the dilapidated fence, the fence we are slated to replace along the East side of the pasture. We also started watering and irrigating the pasture, and continued training the horses and mules to come to a clanging pan and the food it represents. The high was 79. And the low? Well, it was about 41 degrees F., but I am not certain because I put my temperature probe for the portable weather station in the refrigerator to enable adjustment of the propane level...which we eventually accomplished at 39.9 degrees. Too much accuracy for this generation of technology, but there it is. Yes, a deluxe abode, with propane fridge, stove (with oven!), an on-demand water heater (hot showers!), and propane lights. (We would mostly use our sun shower and headlamps to conserve fuel, however.) There's even a deep freeze, but we don't use it because it's an energy hog. 6/21/2005 Rocking the Solstice along the MF Salmon. The digging bar is bent, I wonder how come, making it difficult to pry the numerous rocks out of the slowly deepening post hole. Like hiking along the Colorado River, it's 90% rocks and 10% dirt or sand. The 10% is difficult to find today. We dig for about two hours, stop for a late breakfast, during which we lounge and watch the river parade - mostly female oarsters today. We also check in via FS radio and are happy to talk briefly with Sheri Hughes, River Manager, and the person partly responsible for us being here - having met her when we backpacked from Boundary Creek to the Flying B two years ago (see this report on the WV site, link at the bottom). Then back to work for another two hours. Our total today was three posts in the rocky ground. "I gave my heart to the mountains the minute I stood beside this river with its spray in my face and watched it thunder into foam, smooth to green glass over sunken rocks, shatter to foam again. I was fascinated by how it sped by and yet was always there; its roar shook both the earth and me." Wallace Stegner The three-man weed crew of Josh F., Colby A., and Taylor L. fly out tomorrow after 8 straight days of hiking and spot-spraying. Six days hence, two will fly into Indian Cr., while one returns here with Tommy G., to load the stock and from here go to Indian Creek. They will be working their way toward Boundary Creek over the next four 8-day hitches. K and I rigged the hammock, but were unable to enjoy it because a storm came blowing in from the West. Our efforts to train the horses and mules to come to a clanged pan have fared miserably - and it appears that the stock are training us. They are nowhere to be seen when we clang the pan in the morning, then appear like republicans at a corporate welfare buffet in the late afternoon - too late in the day to be saddled up to work. High of 87 and a low of 36 today, peppered by a rippling thunderstorm about 7 p.m. Currently, it's 72 degrees and the otherwise blue sky is bordered by a flotilla of cotton ball clouds, seemingly stuck onto one gigantic lenticular - an amazing formation in the world of clouds. 6/22/2005 Post holing in hell? Or, is this the MF? The radio crackles and cackles, then blurts out "the gauge is at 3.19 feet, 2060 CFS, garbungle le doc tuc over der by de MF Lodge." So the river level has dropped a bit since we arrived, when it was reading about 3.3 feet. The gauge is just upstream from the MF Lodge, and now the levels are beamed out to expectant satellites, where once the big weight was dangled off the bridge to the lodge and read when it touched the water, then the level radioed back to some distant base station by a real person. Josh, Taylor, and Colby came by on their way to fly out, ending this hitch on the weed crew. We went up to the field to meet Gary of Middle Fork Aviation. He returned to get a second load of their equipment. But in the meantime, back at the GS, K and I pried, scooped, and flung rocks while making post holes. Two more and we completed the short stretch of holes between the hazardous fuels shed and the cabin compound. Whew, so many hours of work for this little fencing. Post hole walking in deep Idaho snow seems a treat compared to digging post holes in nearly pure rock in the gathering heat (actually, we quit when the shade faded). Next - drilling and nailing rails. Why drill?, one might ask. My answer is, if you don't drill, the rails split from pounding in those huge spike nails. After a late lunch enjoyed while gazing at our big back yard, we snoozed a bit in the hammock, to be awakened by Anne K and Jeff O., out fishing after flying in for the afternoon. We hiked the three + round trip to Upper Jackass Rapids and river camp. I found some river booty, and this time it was really booties, thin neoprene booties. On the return, we dropped into the flats by Sater Cabin and savored the enveloping sage scent of a delightful evening. Temperature range today was approximately 90 to 40 degrees Fahrenheit. 6/23/2005; Day 7 Aerial assault in the MF. As we're nailing the rails to the five-post section of fence we have been laboring on the last three days, yet another plane buzzes the circle between the hills and above the cabin. It's party day at the MF Lodge and this is about the tenth plane this morning. We don't see the guests, but about 30 must be at the lodge by now. Perhaps less, because they may bring lots of baggage. We felt like we were outfitting the Spanish Armada when packing for this venture, but our preparations are miniscule compared to the lavish nature of affluent America. Mule #42, Buster, is rolling in the sandy dustbowl just outside the pasture, and enjoying it until the bully-horse, 7-up, comes around with ears drawn back and a threatening posture. Ahh, the sylvan serenity. Kathleen calls out using the satellite phone, to check on Gordon - how did his thesis defense go (passed with aplomb), and how about Elizabeth (doing great, loved the Grand Canyon and Monument Valley). Lots of news is obtained in the brief 5 minutes of air time we have each week. We finish the fence as it gets really warm, and retire for a late afternoon nap before hiking over past the lodge to the start of the trail to Mahoney Lookout (7 miles the sign says), and it's 18 miles to Norton Ridge LO, yow, farther than we thought. The temperature range today was 89-50, or so says the weather station, which predicts rain for tomorrow. Humidity is a dry 30% and the barometer currently reads 25.60 inches of Mercury. This concludes our first week at Little Creek GS, a scant 100 feet or so from the wild and free MF Salmon. 6/24/2005 Lookout! It's Mahoney. (Hike to Mahoney Cr. Lookout; 15 miles, 3500' elevation gain = ERM (Energy Required Miles) of 22 miles, bruised feet extraordinaire.) Strumma, drum, drum. Drumma, strum, strum in exceedingly low tones reverberate nearby. There's a fanned tail poking over the massive rotten log. What a display! It's a booming Blue Grouse, using the log deck as a lek. There he is again, with a dashing red eyebrow, inflating those red air sacks, strumma drum drum, show that tail, dance like a Plains Native American. What a magnificent experience, and we're 15' from the action! We're almost up to the Mahoney LO yet we cannot yet see it. It has been a real slog, wading through a sea of Arrowleaf Balsamroot and rippling waves of cheat grass (lots of picking socks tonight - despite wearing gaiters), along the faded trail lost in the flowers and weeds. We lost the trail for a half mile or so. We've ramped up over 3,000 vertical feet. Around the bend and we see the top of the LO, appearing at first a bit like a yurt. As we reach 7890', we see that the LO is a dilapidated square guyed to the rocks with 1/2" cables which appear to double as lightning dissipation. Inside, there is a 1938 edition of the Payette NF map of the area, decorated with compass headings from the various once-upon-a-time lookouts. This LO has not seen official use in quite some time, and this explains the ethereal trail. The rodents have claimed the LO. We have hiked into late Spring, and see Skyrockets, Bitterroot, Phlox, Indian Paintbrush, and other stuff I have yet to look up. Then, on the way down, the animal excitement continues, as an elk busts out of the edge of the timber on this mostly open and exposed trail. A bit farther on, a bear does the same, rumbling and bumbling through the Doug Fir, offering up a delightful silhouette as he cuts through the trees, and then Chukar Partridge and baby grouse explode at our feet, livening the long walk, and nearly causing cardiac arrest. As my feet are complaining about being bruised, I see what at first appears to be a snag in the trail, then it wiggles its ears to reveal a Bighorn Sheep. Actually, there are seven of them who run a bit then settle down to ignore us as we circle the drainage. Now my feet are really hurting, and we come around yet another ridge flank to see the main portion of Thomas Cr. Field. There's a group of people standing around at the edge of the runway. At first we think they're partyers from the MF Lodge waiting for a flight out, then the shooting begins. Pretend cowboys depositing lead into the hillside. And right where we were hoping to cut down and shorten this long jaunt. Yelling about being down range did nothing, we were ignored by the shooters. So, we walked away from the cabin across the flat ridge to where the trail intersects the river trail, almost at the bridge for the MF Lodge, adding a mile to our journey. After picking seeds from socks, enjoying a hot shower (whew, lots of dirt), and black bean burritos with wine, yum, I'm catching up on this event log. It's crowded here today, with the repetitive "proficiency" flights by the red-lettered single-engine plane from the MF Lodge, (I didn't get the #) (12 take-offs and landings before we finished breakfast!), the river party camped across the bridge, and of course the Pilate's group at the MF Lodge. We also noted the river group at State Land Left as we hobbled toward the GS. Temperature range today was 50 to 90, with lots of sun. And, what a lovely day. Tomorrow, perhaps we will get the package from the FS that somehow went to the MF Lodge - we were told not to visit to collect the mail, because the owner from NY is there, and doesn't take kindly to visitors. (We are not getting mail delivered, so it must be something from the FS folks.) Author's note - we laughed about how 'picking socks in the sand' would make an excellent country-Western song, provided one adds a bit about a lover or a horse who leaves, perhaps a lover and a horse, or a horse who is a lover, a truck, a lonely whistle on a train, dust in the teeth, you get the drift...
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