Summer Hits the High Desert

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It has been simply gorgeous out here today. The sun is gauzed over lightly by wispy clouds, keeping the air cooler than normal. There is a strong wind blowing through, suggesting that Nature is about to bring new weather our way. You never know quite which way she will change, you simply know that there is change afoot.

And I am finally comfortable in pronouncing that summer has hit our high desert. It was barely two weeks ago that we had our last hard frost with temperatures dropping down into the mid-twenties before dawn. That one felt like the last official frost of winter to me, finally! Yesterday, the temperature broke the nineties mark and prompted the annual ritual of reviving the swamp cooler. If you have never lived in arid regions, then you probably haven't a clue about how this odd, simplistic and miraculous item works. If you tried this in Missouri, you would be mildewed from head to toe and sweating even more profusely.

The more dignified and descriptive name for this device is 'evaporative cooler'. The idea is to drizzle water down over fairly absorbent materials in the in-take filters so that air flow will cause 'evaporative cooling'. To bring this idea home, remember back to running under the sprinkler as a child and feeling the breeze bring a goose-bumpy chill as it hit and dried the water on your skin. THAT is evaporative cooling at work!
.The Rat's swamp cooler had been draped over with canvas since last Fall and now the Spring uncovering and resurrection was due. It is a ritual to mark the seasons. Mark found and readied the ladder and, since I am least likely to break the Rat's smallish rafters with weight, I climbed up onto the roof and unfastened the tarp cover. Mark winces noticeably when I scale the metal ladder in my 'construction slippers' (which are basically soft-bottomed moccasins) but I like the real time connection with my footing and the rungs don't seem to bother my in-step at all. This explanation of the 'construction slipper' is really for my U.K. cousin who has asked what apparel might be most suitable during his upcoming visit. The term came about since I have used such footwear forever and for everything, including severe house make-overs. Mark never did get over my use of them and OSHA would undoubtedly faint dead away at the prospect. But what was most hilarious was when I mentioned construction slippers to an old friend who I found again after twenty years and he knew EXACTLY what I meant. "You wear construction slippers, too?!" Sure enough, he sent me a photo of himself building a log cabin and shod ever so comfortably in those versatile moccasins. Great minds and all that, you know, but not recommended for the faint of heart and tender of foot.

Mark scaled the ladder next and siphoned out the slimy residue left over from last year before refilling the sump reservoir and making sure that the make-up water float control was functioning properly.

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Job done! Here is the swamp cooler ready for hot weather action once again. Now you can see that the unit has a louvered intake panel on all fours sides. Behind each louver is a pad of material over which water is drizzled continually by a small amp pump. The big strain on the generator is the start-up of the fan motor, one not unlike your furnace fan but without it, you are not going to get any cooling effect in the living space.

Our regimen is to open the exterior hose bib which supplies the water to the pump and then let it catch up since water will evaporate from the reservoir over night. To allow proper and even through-circulation, we then open a window at each far end of the Rat and make sure to close intermediate windows or at least narrow the openings considerably. Then we make sure that the sensitive computers are not on during the start-up of the cooler. You can turn them on as soon as the start-up amp demand of the fan motor has been satisfied however. The last step is hitting the cooler switch. If the start-up doesn't kill the generator with its demand, you grin and begin to feel the cool relief wafting down from the big ceiling vent ... a glorious relief!

The pros and cons of this unit in our situation:

I suppose we could have gone without any cooling at all and simply lay there sweating and whining incessantly throughout the entire summer but both of us run body systems more suited to Alaska and don't tolerate heat all that well (don't ask us why we settled in the desert - it was just one of those strong emotional things).

With the prospect of only generator power and maybe eventually solar power, standard compressor-driven 'refrigerated' cooling was absolutely out of the question. The electric supply required to keep such a system happy was too great for our situation.

The swamp cooler has much less electrical demand but it is a shameless water hog. I monitored its water consumption through the translucent walls of our 350 gallon water tank. The unit will consistently use almost 100 gallons of water a day during the hottest weather. If you have to truck water in, this is not an affordable option. Fortunately, we have a shallow and plentiful well and can refill our tank as needed.

Just as an exercise, now consider what demands such popular cooling systems would place on the limited water resources of any quickly growing city in the desert. Some new desert McMansions may consume three or four times that amount of water. You can eat up water or electricity ... or just wilt miserably and unproductively in the heat. Decisions, decisions, decisions ... as always.
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The Generation Wars

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Update:

Generators: 1.75 / Rat Clan Mechanics: .25

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The gen war score says it all, almost. Somewhere under the dark clouds of obstinate generators, Mark's planned absence for the better part of next week, his broken hand, the killer black pick-up truck conspiracy (grin), the insouciance (being diplomatic here) of certain gas companies and, accordingly, the large gamble of moving 'up top', my normal ease of writing has all but evacuated this week. That ability certainly didn't flee from boredom.
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Here is one of the naughty generators of late. At least it is running, after a fashion. Below it, you can see our version of the mechanic's dolly which lopsidedly straddles the hand-dug rain diversion ditch. After several days of the myopic, ham-fisted horde saying "Let's try this ...", "Okay, let's try this then ...", this blue dairy crate and the generators have bested us. Pre-existing posterior miseries aside (but sorely aggravated), this dairy crate left us each with a serious case of WAFFLE BUTT! This was the ultimate lingering insult to injury after not having corrected the mechanical problems.
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Mark is circumventing the old generator's start-up problem for now by removing the spark plug and priming the cylinder with a few spritzes of gas. While removing the plug for each start-up attempt is a royal pain, it is still far easier than fighting with the air box to squirt gas through the carb throat. The draw-back is in tempting fate blatantly on a cross-threaded head (a la the Kawasaki generator last year).
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After confirming that each unit had spark, we went through the entire fuel system on each; from cleaning out the carb float bowls and jets to cleaning out pre-carb sludge traps and tank filters. Murphy's Law probably also suggests that you will not need to remove the tank filter unless the tank is filled to the brim with gas first. In my ancient and cantankerous state, this whole process was a high blood pressure fest waiting to happen. I had looked for encouraging signs of culprits to keep me going. There were none; no badly clogged filters, only one nozzle jet with two minor holes (of many) plugged, nothing that offered a "Eureka!" moment of satisfaction and encouragement. I am now convinced that trying to establish an off-the-grid homestead goes much better for those without a substantial layer of jade on them. But we're here so no sense in giving up now!
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Once Mark heads off to civilization with the prospects of real flushing toilets and predictable showers, I might just avoid the generator start-up hassles and live by kerosene light until he returns. That means no computer, no on-line access and no further blog activity until he returns. Just warning ya ! I will try to slip in one more post before that happens though.
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Ms. Daisy Finally Shines

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Yes, ditzy Daisy came into her own on Saturday for Mark. And pleased he was. With Slim about to move cattle down into our canyon, they have been working hard to repair fences to keep his cattle from mixing with the somewhat wild stock next door.
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Daisy and Brou alerted us to this stray and I caught her with the new camera's zoom; red-handed with a mouthful of our pasture grass. It was Daisy who chased the stray back down the road at 15mph ahead of Mark in the Ram, a mile and a half back to the fence line. Mark was pleased and surprised at her willingness to help out. She would return to him at intervals and go out to search again at his suggestion. The wily cow had given them the slip at the last moment, doubling back and descending a steep arroyo bank leading to the creek which neither of us would tackle on a good day. These creatures are amazingly agile despite their bulky appearance.

Tired but still not willing to hitch a ride back in the truck, she ran all the way back behind the truck. Brou was quietly waiting on the front porch for them. We had been warned that his nearly fatal bout with parvo-virus would leave him without his original stamina and perhaps he wisely realized that. Normally Mark would put him in the back of the truck but had taken off without him this time. Brou was noticeably bummed out about this oversight, too.

Daisy seemed to fully understand and enjoy what new heights of esteem she had just achieved on her own and was unusually chipper and responsive for the rest of the day. Maybe this will be her Renaissance!

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This is another heads up in case I disappear for a while. It would appear that we are entering into another techno cluster-bung zone. We had not just one but BOTH generators fail on us in the last 24 hours. I am typing on borrowed, limping generator time at the moment. Tomorrow will be taken up with carb, fuel line and filter maintenance. Gee, I can hardly wait. The components are very efficiently squeezed into a space roughly the size of large Coleman coolers and we are a couple of big people with equally big fingers and hands ... and with little patience and finesse left. Wish us luck, please. If it works, I'll be back in no time flat! If I'm not, don't panic yet.
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Our Big Night Out!

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We've received an invitation to dinner this week, by way of Slim, down to meet the new crew at the more or less third closest neighbor's place. Who is the closest neighbor really depends on what washes are running and uncrossable on a given day. On Wednesday, these folks were our third closest neighbors.

Given that I hadn't found a practical occasion to leave our immediate canyon since last August, this was truly an event for me - a pleasant adventure to see at least the next ten miles that lay beyond that confine. As Phlegm Fatale recently suggested, it might be a helpful blog post to address the matter of transitioning from formerly complete 'civilization' to nearly complete primitive solitude. It does appear to involve several things on a number of different levels. I will start ruminating on that one.
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While far from perfect, the roads have dried up considerably in the last week or so. The big question was if our creek crossing was navigable. Amazingly, the road conditions seem to be addressed fairly well when a drilling rig is in the area. We got to the crossing and found that someone had arranged to dump several loads of larger rock into it to form a firm crossing base (above). While this side was a little soft, there were no surprises waiting half-way across or on the other side. This is the same crossing which previously inspired, in part, the "Chaos, Rains Supreme" series.
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Other than for the lightly overcast skies as we set out, this trip felt like a good one to my instincts so I was looking forward to it immensely by now and to meeting some new faces in the canyon lands. We were on our way!
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The main wash (shown above) was still channeling off snow melt and remained a complete mire of treacherous mud bog so we took the infamous 'goat path' on our side of it. I was overwhelmed that it had transformed into a near super-highway since our last joint encounter with it. Not to be snarky again, of course, but it would appear that road conditions greatly improve when priority gas development and profit are involved.
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It was largely a lovely and smooth ride, in fact. It still might not accommodate two way traffic well but it was splendid in relative terms. In this photo, you can how the path dips down and disappears to the right into a cut, re-emerges at a climb, drops out of sight to the left and sharply snaps up to the right again. This is pretty much its typical course over the three mile stretch to the bridge.
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Here (above) is the main wash which escorts the goat path but at some 30 to 50 feet below and shown here in a benign and promising state but still completely uncrossable. Its broad sandy bed hints at the full expanse of its realm when the waters run full and wild. It looks as innocuous here as a motionless boa constrictor but therein lies its secret to bringing sudden death upon the gormless ever since man first roamed these lands.
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I will stop here since I have burned up a considerable amount of daylight generator time already and it is now sensibly time to shut down until night falls again. I prefer to compose our stories while it is fully day time and I still have a goodly share of energy about me but wear on the generator and fuel use are a necessary factor in the balance, always.
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Talkin' 'bout Our Generation

If there is one bit of advice on homesteading which will run consistently through these journals, it is: "Do it as soon as you can, while you still have energy and ambition. AND patience. I no longer possess the patience which was needed to restore intricate, delicate antiques or vehicles. It is simply gone. I don't know if it is solely the erosive effect of time itself or if it is a complex weave of experiences which drove it away. Perhaps having to start over again from nearly nothing so many times has exhausted a finite supply of patience. But, take my word for it, it is a necessary attribute for a life in the middle of nowhere. It helps you tackle a problem and keep on going without draining essential energy.

The other valuable asset you will need is a familiarity with every system which affects your quality of life there. We are marginally suited in that respect but probably better than most folks. Unless you find a property with an existing, fairly maintenance free home, you will be ever strained and challenged. The greater distance to town or the more miles off pavement, the less likely you will be able to call in professional help. When you are 2 or more hours in from pavement, you realize that you cannot throw up your arms in surrender and call a repairman, not unless you have unlimited financial resources.

So ... on Saturday night, I was on the computer after Mark went to bed when I heard an uneven woowoppaty of the generator and saw the corresponding light show. I grabbed the lantern and dashed outside to kill the engine but I knew that I had just broken one of my most stringent rules - Do Not run engines out of fuel! From my own experiences, doing so will allow water, rust and crud to flow out of the tank and clog things you don't want to deal with. I went to bed with that thought on my mind.

On Sunday morning, I awoke to the raucous rattle and exhaust call of the bigger generator, the one we only run to power my table saw. It took a moment to shake off the night's last groggy hold before I realized that this confirmed my last thoughts of the evening before - Mark could not start the Honda 3000EU generator. Here comes that vital element of patience into play. I laid there a few moments longer, going over the likely components to address and I dreaded the prospects deeply. A long time ago, I used to tear down my motorcycle every winter ... just because. Now I resent having to so much as change oil. Jade. An oil-soaked jade.

We held a quick conference, consulted the owner's manual, and decided that Mark would continue working on the addition and that I would see if I could do anything to resurrect the generator. It sits in the snug metal 'doghouse' at the end of the addition project and I was soon sitting in a sideways knot on the dusty floor. Gack ... that's right ... metric! Not like either of us have a vast selection of metric tools around but, several times throughout the morning, we managed to come up with the right sizes after considerable scrounging. Then I realized that everything had been efficiently jammed into this housing and that my hands are about a size and a half too big to be anything but clumsy. I removed the air filter and removed the sludge trap hidden behind it. I found some light residue but nothing I considered a problem with fuel flow. Put everything back ... still no fire up. Sigh ... surely NOT the carb? No, I'd rather check the plug than deal with that. Still nothing. No, not the carb, please ... let's throw in a little starter fluid down the hole. Nothing.

No, not the carb PLEASE. I retreated back into the Rat and took a coffee break, trying to work up the heart to attack the carb. Okay, let's do it. Once I got myself twisted back down into position, Mark was marvelous about finding any new items needed, like a tin can of gas to clean off the main and needle jets which I dropped into the dirt no less that a half dozen times before my hands and screwdriver jammed through the access hatch could reinstall them. Patience, not! Right about then, my right hip let me know that it had taken quite enough abuse and I hurled myself out of the doghouse to roll around on the ground looking for any escape from the pain. I eventually crawled back in and finished up. NOTHING! Patience, that elusive virtue. It is a vital antidote to despair and I had little by then.

By now, the sun had roasted both of us to near exhaustion so we called it a day. Normally we retreat inside and fire up the evap cooler. Ohhh ... that's right, the gen-er-a-tor is-NOT-working. So we sit there sweating, looking over the trouble-shooting section, following the yes or no arrows right down to the last box "You are an idiot - take it to your dealer". This would mean an unplanned run to town and at least two days without electricity, possibly a week or more plus an extra retrieval trip. No lights, no cooling, no computer, no e-mails, no blog. Glum, glum, glum rained down over Mudville. We filled up the new lanterns with equal parts kerosene and despair in preparation for nightfall and fell back to the living room.

Complete resignation seeped in around the edges of the gloom and drained what was left of us so we both sat silently for a time, our thoughts only vaguely connecting with reality.

"Wait!" I startled Mark with that exclamation and he sat forward. I had calmed down enough to remember my next rule of mechanics, one which I had learned from observation plus the hard way. 'Problems may coincidentally develop which have absolutely nothing to do with the first and obvious culprit.' "Mark!!! Tell me ... does that oil warming light normally flicker when you crank it over?" I have had many eccentric vehicles over the years that have lights which flicker benignly during start-up but, HEY, I am grasping desperately for straws by now. "Gee ... I never noticed one way or the other." "Okay, let's get desperate here then ... would you please top up the oil and check the housing for level?" Off he went with hesitant hope while I raced to prep supper before dark. "VROOM!" Yes, yes, yes - we both nearly danced around the Rat, another problem vanquished in the waning daylight. But don't dare dance with too much abandon for there will likely be new problems tomorrow.