Home Cummins, Part 3.

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You know the drill by now - scroll down and read Part 1 and then Part 2 if you haven't already or you will be completely lost.

Retrospect: Mid-September 2006
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We ignored the first hint of a cold dawn as it back-lit the condensate on the truck windows by burying our heads deeper into our light jackets. Trying to move sent a xylophone riff of pain down our cramped spines and out into our stiff limbs. Aside from letting in a blast of chilling air, a quick roll-down of the window made it clear that the creek was STILL running hard. It would be hours more before the sun warmed the canyon air around us or slowed the creek.

We stirred and felt obliged to be social when we heard two trucks draw near around 9AM. The two drivers stopped well short of us, trudged through the brush to inspect the creek and promptly left, purposefully avoiding any eye contact or acknowledgment. Unlike the well-end workers, we've found the pipeline company workers to be consistently aloof and occasionally a detriment (as noted in an earlier story of getting the Ram stuck in the creek). We suspect that there is no 'good neighbor policy' in place in these pipeline corporations.
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There was no way we could force a return to napping at this late stage of the morning so we had to make decisions. The kitty boys were safe inside the Rat but my concern for Brou was building furiously. When Mark volunteered to walk across the creek and head home, I declined. Nursing an old phobia about driving other people's vehicles, I declared that it would be me who walked home and that he would ferry the new truck across when the waters subsided.
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I scraped a good amount of muck off my shoes with a stout sage branch and placed them in a plastic shopping bag along with my socks. Since my straight-cut jeans would not roll up very far, they were placed in the bag on top of newspaper serving as a mud barrier. I marched resolutely down the slope to the creek, bag in hand, turning only once to announce "Okay, now if I fall down in the creek and you laugh ... well, you know ..." By the time I was on the far side and realizing that I was facing this walk alone, he had already returned to the truck and was deeply engrossed in his newspapers. Hmpphhh. Fine! I then looked down at the mud which had oozed up in quantity from between my toes - it would obviously be awhile before I could put my jeans and shoes back on. A great spectacle to behold; me, the great cross country adventurer, pushing on in my bare feet and underwear. "Did Lewis and Clark ever do this?" I wondered to myself.
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It was about a quarter of a mile into this trek that two things happened. The first was a nature call of the most pressing kind. Oh, surely NOT now - I'm barefooted with this gimpy knee and there is no sign of any suitable seating arrangement to aid in this suddenly urgent mission. Not wanting to tread into the brush in such a vulnerable state of dress, I trudged on for another hundred yards but succumbed to sheer desperation. I planted myself for business in an area barely off the road after surveying for snakes and tarantulas ... and so grateful for that section of newspaper in the plastic bag. The second thing to happen (of course - as you probably could have guessed) was the sudden roar of an approaching truck from up the road ahead. Great; I am unshod, in my underwear and in the middle of addressing a dump. Such would appear to be the story of my life at times.
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To be continued

This is consuming more words than I had planned so I'm cutting it short here to go back to the elk processing now. I am beginning to truly resent that beast, I really am. I'll be back and visiting as soon as I finish pounding that vile and taunting creature into submission, promise!!!

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Mountains Out of Ant Hills

This is a tread-water offering while Mark and I fine tune the last elements of the Rat Water Works. 'Fine tune', in this case, is a euphemism for banging our heads against the wall and screeching as we solve one problem, only to have another appear, then another and another - like playing Whack-a-Mole. We'll have to take a few more whacks before showing you the final lay-out. It's starting to look good though!

Click on image for larger view

This photo shows one of our neighborhood red ant hills last Fall. I placed a gallon milk jug beside the mound to show how industrious these little fellows can be. They place a shingle-like layer of larger gravel and chico needles on top to slow down erosion and it's enjoyable to catch the glint of old colored glass fragments in the mix. I've heard that they occasionally dredge up lost Indian trade beads as well. These mounds and their forage trails are everywhere and I soon learned to pay attention as to where I was standing before stopping to sightsee during a hike. Willy the Well Driller noted that the 'old timers' used to observe the height of the mounds to forecast how much snow the coming winter would bring. Then, being in his 8Os, he stopped to laugh at himself for calling anyone an 'old timer'. But the ants and the old timers were right - we had a much needed higher level of precipitation last winter.

The ants showed up and introduced themselves like the Welcome Wagon as soon as we arrived. While they are not as aggressive and rude as fire ants, I still didn't like having them keep me company and crawl up my pants legs while I was working under the Rat. That crawling sensation caused me to hit my head on the undercarriage more than once. To their credit, however, they were more pleasant to deal with than the rotting rat that I stuck my hand in while trying to move around under there. Thankfully, I did not run into scorpions, rattlers, black widows or tarantulas that are also likely to move in if you don't have the space sealed up well. I have met all of them in other settings since arriving so it's probably just a matter of time before they show up under the Rat. Funny thing but I have since developed a dislike of having to work under there. Therefore, I will be ever grateful that Virgil bit the bullet and dove under to deal with the latest necessary plumbing reworks. I know for a fact that he is not particularly fond of creepy crawlies either so my only solace was that he was far more agile and likely to come shooting out of there at light speed if he ran into anything untoward. Without him, I guarantee you that this water project would have been on hold 'til slightly before Hell freezes over if it had required my participation.