Close call, next project

We've picked up a small flock of chickens since we've moved in. Some abandoned, some just passed on from a friend. My dad helped me set up an existing pen on the property to house them better. Heat lamp, plug-in water bowl for winter, roosts and so on. It was getting time to clean it out, so I tossed a bunch of stale bread in their yard to get them out of the coop. As I was scooping away, in flew one of the chickens. Which is unusual, usually they stay away from any commotion I'm making. She was trying to get away from the gray mass diving down on her. In that half-second I realized it was a hawk, the bird wheeled around in the doorway and dove after the rest of the flock. Which was running for cover under the larger, three-sided stall. They like to hang out here when it's inclement weather, they don't like scratching in the snow, and probably feel more secure under its roof. I saw the hawk dive and get both sets of talons on one of the white hens, right on the stall's threshold. It let go immediately and flew into the far corner of the stall, towards the only set of windows. It stopped right on the window sill. I walked right up to it, gratefully wearing a set of insulated work gloves, and grabbed it right by the legs and tail feathers. Easier to truss than any of our chickens. Hanging upside down, turning its head to keep an eye on things, I carried it out of the stall. My heart started to race, in wonder at what had just happened and what I was carrying in my hand. I walked back to the house, and knocked on Andrew's apartment window. His head popped up, I held the bird in one hand and pointed with the other. He cranked open the window, and I said something to the effect of: Hey I just caught this going after the chickens while I was in there cleaning the coop can you grab your camera I'll meet you at your front porch".


During this whole time, I had the hawk just by one leg and the base of its tail. The only struggle it gave was to occasionally flap its wings once or twice, and fold them in again. I tried putting my hand on its shoulder, to support the rest of its body, and it never even tried to bite. Just kept its beak slightly open. It didn't grab on with its talons either. Which I suppose is correct in this situation; you're not trying to hold on, you're waiting to get away. Still, what amazed me was how calm and steady it was during its capture. The opposite of trying to catch a sparrow that's flown into our house, for sure. I let it go soon after the last picture; it took off low to the ground, flew expertly between two low-hanging branches, and that was it. Didn't even lose a tail feather. Andrew went to go upload pictures, I went back to the chickens to see how they had fared.

Not a scratch. Most had followed the rooster back into the coop, silent and huddled in the corner. A few were still in the stall, pressed into corners. This is definitely one of the vulnerable aspects of chickens, they will suffocate each other trying to wedge into a small space when under duress. I had to gently move them out and into the coop. They were all fine, not a scratch or a drop of blood. A few more loose feathers than usual, and that was it.

I sent the pictures to my brother, who had this to say: "The goshawk is in the accipiter family, like the cooper/sharp shinned hawks. They're differentiated from the buteos (like the red tailed hawk) as being a more swooping through the woods and flying actively; as opposed to the more soaring high in the sky buteos. Accipiters are known as bird feeder hawks, so your chicken coop is right in that ballpark." He sent me this link. He said he heard these birds of prey can bite through steel-reinforced gloves - but hey, glad it worked for you.

I've alway kept the chickens closed up in the coop at night, and when we're not home. The yard has a 4' fence, but no cover. Clearly some will be necessary. Amber having driven to work, I was left with a balmy day and a bike trailer, to start my next project.

Winter's been fun and all...

But what about this so-called "Banana Belt" I hear people talking about? I've lived here eight years now, and I haven't seen no stinkin' Bananas. There used to be this Banana plant at Bongo's; but it froze to death in 2006...

5 Acres of Paradise

Step out the back door and there are beautiful things to see. The snow is finally melting in town and the yard has come alive with color, new found objects and earthy smells. The dogs love outdoor time. They've become adept at avoiding cactus, uncovering old bones, finding deer droppings and chasing unsuspecting rabbits. Even little Moby who dislikes being cold as much as I do, will venture far and scavenge under a pinon tree until he loses track of time and finds himself all alone--uh oh, where's my pack! Grizz, our 125# Malamute has nerve damage in his hind end and lumbers unevenly through the brush. He went in for acupuncture today. He wasn't able to jump into the car on his way there--please, I need some help here--but did so just fine leaving the vet's office. Rufus' one focus is finding a bone and then guarding it with gusto any time another canine comes within 10 feet. Bheri keeps a look out from wherever she is, always ready to jump into action. She charges the chicken fence to make sure the chickens are never dozing off. This is no game. One poor hen was eaten a couple of weeks ago by some hungry four-legged creature--so stay alert chickens! And of course Bheri keeps an eye on the road so that if by chance someone with a bicycle or baby stroller rolls by, she can let us know. The cat, that's Twister aka Evil Cat, (not Bob cat who doesn't bother to get off the couch to come outside and play with the rest of the gang), follows the pack from a distance, meowing the whole way, taking extreme effort to avoid any cactus and rolling in the dirt when the spot is right. He slinks about, half scared, half curious, with his tail straight up in the air and puffed out to three times its normal diameter. Anton picks up rocks and places them artistically on other rocks or stumps, and I enjoy keeping an eye on the critters' happenings. And speaking of critters, we're considering adopting a pair of retired and unwanted donkeys. Check out Long Hopes Donkey Rescue. Before anyone gets too excited, there's a lot research to do, fence posts to pound, fencing to erect, and a small stable to construct. As for now, all is peaceful on these five acres of pinoned paradise.

Nothing Parties Like a Rental

A few years ago, Yeti released the 575, and we decided to include it the shop's demo fleet. Wanting to get familiar with the bike, Shawn and I took a couple to Moab. This year, Yeti has improved the 575 for 2008, but the original was so good I launched this ledge along Amasa Back on the first ride.

The folks with the 4x4 wanted to video it, and they were kind enough to email me the file when they returned from vacation. Thanks guys!

Mount Antora Aviation Crash Site Investigation.

For nearly as long as I've lived in Salida, I've heard anecdotes regarding a plane wreck on the western slopes of Mt. Antora. The one that stuck with me most is a fourth-person account of a skillful snow machine rider who ascended a steep avalanche chute in the middle of winter to retrieve a souvenir from the wreckage. Was this a tale founded on truth?

Mt. Antora. This mountain escapes notice and notoriety by standing somewhat less than the 14,000 feet that gives so many other Colorado peaks a claim to fame. But no traveler on the Colorado or Continental Divide Trail could fail to take note of it's imposing majesty and beauty, whether in summertime:
Or in winter, as may be glimpsed from Monarch Ski Area (here, behind Snowstake, a popular backcountry run just above Monarch Pass):

Now, my friend John E. and I share a love of aviation, and he has spent some time searching out specific locations of several aviation crash sites. I wanted to see if the Mt. Antora tales were true. Between us, we had little difficulty convincing Anton and Amber to accompany us on our expedition. We never need much of an excuse to ride bikes and hike all over a mountain side, and this promised to be interesting.

It's true that accords of human activity began to be recorded in durable format a long time ago, but the sieve of recorded history has been, and will be for some time, made of a coarse mesh indeed. It's curious that we place an arbitrary mark on the planet's timeline and say, "here is the beginning of the recorded history.", because in our information age of RSS feeds, text alerts, and planet scanning satellites, we tend to forget that the record is awfully spare compared to the vast story of humankind, itself just a footnote in the Book of Earth. There is plenty of history left to discover.

To return to our little adventure, our attempt to verify a small bit of modern history. At first, all we had to go on was those anecdotal stories. We checked out a few likely avalanche chutes on Google Earth, and hatched a plan. Ride from Marshal Pass on the Colorado Trail until it met with the Antora Meadows Trail, which traverses the western slope of Antora to an old mining camp and passes under all the chutes we wanted to investigate, then hike up the ridges between the chutes to scan for the wreck with binoculars.

Antora Meadows Trail is a treat. It possesses the quintessential Salida singletrack formula of heavenly trail and unreal viewscapes tempered by utterly vague navigational signage and crushing hike-a-bikes. It's so far out in the middle of freaking nowhere that you are very aware you are in wilderness. Real wilderness, not that Federally delineated stuff; the kind that devours any outpost of civilization, like that mining camp, or any unprepared traveler (not us!).

It was shaping up to be a fine late summer ride. It was September 16, 2007.



The singletrack was a nice warmup. Then we got down to business and started hiking.

After maybe 1800 feet of vertical, we gained a ridge and spent some time glassing the mountain side for debris. But we spotted nothing but a sinister-looking weather system gathering to the South. We retreated to the bikes, thinking we might have to pull the plug on this trip.

A few minutes down the trail, we stopped for a minute at the base of the next valley to the north. John scrambled up the scree to see if he could spot anything. Five minutes later we were all back in hiking mode after he spied an aluminum panel far upslope.

I keep telling Pearl Izumi they need to make their X-Alp shoes in a high top model: Hike-a-bikes around Salida are burly. Oh, did I mention John did the whole ride/hike in his SPD sandals? WTF.

We found this six-cylinder horizontally opposed engine about halfway up. Later identified as a Continental O-470-R.

The main fuselage came to rest far up in the valley.
One half of the wing had separated from the rest of the craft. We jotted down the registration number for future reference.
Almost there. I would have been a very tough spot to access for rescuers.
It was definitely a Cessna.
Anton spotted what appeared to be the muffler quite a ways up slope. It seems the location of impact was pretty far up from final resting place. The plane was fairly intact, all things considered. We couldn't investigate further, as it was getting much colder, and that weather system was getting closer. Time to bug out.

We hightailed it down Silvercreek Trail, headed for home and hot tea. The only thing the wilderness claimed this time was a Canon camera. Oops.

Armed with the planes N-number, John hit up the library archives, and I logged onto the magic internet box. We discovered a record of the original NTSB incident report, a bit of a trick since the the NTSB had the wrong N-number and date on the report. The crash was Sept. 15, 1964, 43 years and one day before our visit. The aircraft was a Cessna 182B, on a flight from Utah to Kansas, the pilot was a 41 year old WWII Bomber pilot. Sadly, he and his two passengers did not survive. It appears the flight encountered very similar weather to what we experienced, and at the same time of day. The crash is listed in this Google Earth file (N2390G), but since it's based on the NTSB reports coordinates (only listed to degree and minute accuracy), it shows the site to be some eight miles from it true location.

History is alway interesting, especially when you go out and find it yourself.