Here are a few pics from the Haunted House I set up in the garage as the entrance to the Halloween party this year. the party was a grweat success. I am trying to track down the pics i took of our costumes but these will have to do for now. A few people were to afraid to enter the garage. Amazing what a smoke machine, little laundry detergent and, a black light will do to some people.

Boomdays!!!

Random dude drilling hole

And we're off.

The hat was the key

What a pair. No trout left behind.

Nancy's Dog


Sarah has always dreamed of going fishing with her father, Tom. Tom grew up hunting, camping, and fishing. He tried to introduce this to his family while the kids were very young, But Nancy wasn't having it, at all.

So Sarah comes to me and says, I want to go fly fishing with my dad. I say have a good time. I had obviously not understood that she meant, "We are going fly fishing with my dad."



Sarah and I live a good 10 to 11 hour drive from Las Vegas where her parents live. We figured we would meet somewhere in the middle. We (Sarah) picked Leadville Colorado because it lies a very equitable 10 hrs from both of us. Made perfect sense to me.


With one weeks notice and in the midst of the counties biggest town celebration of the year, Sarah was able to find a hotel and a fly fishing guide to accommodate the four of us. We all arrived without incident the night before the great trout massacre was to begin. Nancy promptly got violently ill. From her symptoms I deduced that she was suffering from altitude sickness. Leadville sits well above 10,000 ft and flatlanders do not take to the altitude well. We took steps to ensure her recovery and with all due sympathy extended, we went fishing anyway. (SORRY Nancy).



We met our guide at the shop, fitted ourselves for hip waders, and off we went. We drove to a small fishing hole and practice fly casting in the parking lot. Right a way I could tell that i had missed my calling in life. I was a master fly tosser, or whatever you call it. River runs through it had nothing on me, I was confident to say the least. (surprise, surprise, I know). Sarah was doing well and Tom looked like had hadn't missed a beat since his last trip 30 years earlier.



To the water we strode. I worked out some line, take my stance, observe my arena, and cast with visions of trophy trout hanging above my mantle. I could see the trophy very clearly in my mind. What i could not see any longer was a fly on my line. I had snagged the flies on the weeds behind me and destroyed my line. This would become a theme for the day. My delusions of grandeur faded with each successive branch, tree, rock, my own shoe, small rodent that I caught. At least i had a cool hat. Sarah was faring much better that I. She was able to hit the water with great regularity. Tom was continuing to look impressive.







At the end of the day we had all caught fish had a great time and returned to find Nancy still alive. We went into town to find a bite to eat. We stumbled upon the worlds greatest festival, Boomdays. A celebration of the town's mining heritage. The main street was blocked off, the vendors were in place, the music was ready. All were eagerly anticipating the grand opening ceremonies. The grand marshal came on the PA to announce the ceremonial beginning to the festivities and then, it appeared on the horizon, glistening in the sun, being carried with all the reverence, pomp and circumstance, and pride that the local Lions Club could muster. There it was, the beer tent!!!!.

They carried this thing down main street, six blocks to the canter of town. dropped it in the parking lot across from city hall. And thus the stage was set for the oddest festival of all time.

Then came the motorcycle rodeo which included such fan favorites as the Slowest drag race in the world. The weenie bite, where your passenger had to take a bite out a dog hanging from a string, biggest bite wins. And the Honey I Am Home Competition. This display of pure class involved lying in a bed until the announcer yells "Honey I am Home!!!", At which point the competitor must jump up, put on a pair of pants, crawl through a window, start the bike, and get the heck out of town. best time wins. Boomdays Baby!!!!



A friend of mine from work used to travel to this thing every year with his family. The best way he could describe the goings-on was thus; "Random dudes drilling holes in rocks for no apparent reason." Enough said. here is a pic of that. Awesome.




We all thought Nancy was feeling better until she found a "DOG" and asked if she could keep it.

Bataan Memorial Death March

Last week Sarah and I participated in the Bataan Death March which is a race through the desert which commemorates the great sacrifices made by US servicemen in the Philippines during WWII. If you are not familiar with the events surrounding this ordeal I would suggest doing some research on it. I had always heard of the surrender of 6000 men in the early part of the war following the bombing of pearl harbor but I was unable to grasp the horrific conditions these men were forced to endure during their march to the sea and in the following three years spent in one POW camp after another. This race was started by the NMSU ROTC 21 years ago as a way to remember the price of freedom. That year 300 people showed up. over the years this event has grown and grown. This year there were almost 6,000 participants, many of whom were personally connected to these men in one way or another.

A large number of these POWs were from the New Mexico National Guard. along the route i was able to talk to many people who were there to remember their grandfather, uncle, great grandad, husband, or family friend who had paid the ultimate price.

There are not many survivors left, but this year 24 men arrived early in the morning to see us off. The greatest part of this race, and what sets this apart from any other marathon, is the opportunity to meet these men and to shake their hand and say thank you.

We attended a panel discussion on the Friday night before the race where they had assembled a panel of authors, including Hampton Sides (author of ghost soldiers), and a handful of survivors for a question and answer discussion of the events surrounding these men's surrender and torture. I was very interested in the research and historical perspective offered by the authors, but i was more interested to hear from the men who were there. These guys were very open about their experiences during the war and about their desire to keep alive the memories of the ones who did not make it back. They told stories of being crammed into unmarked Japanese transport ships for months on end and having to listed to the sound of US submarines
"PINGING" their ships with sonar in attempts to torpedo these ships, not knowing that for every successful hit they were killing thousands of their brothers.

To a man, they all said that the one thing that kept them alive was a belief in the man next to them and the faith that tomorrow would indeed come. They talked of still fighting in what small way they could. They were put to work building munitions and boats for the Japanese. One man recalled substituting mud for rivets in the shipyards and the pride he felt when that ship sank as soon as it was launched. These men are not bitter old codgers. They are positive, humble, and proud of the service they gave.

As far as the run itself, I was woefully unprepared. I had commited to do this with Sarah but with the snow on the mountain being so good this year my running schedule took a backseat to my skiing schedule. Of course Sarah still drug me out of bed at 3:30 am to drive out to the base. we arrived to a 28 degree temp. The ceremony started at 6:30 and after a fly-over by a few Raptors the race was on. We all lined up to walk past the survivors and shake hands, then we were off.

I couldn't feel my feet for the first three miles from the cold. I soon warmed up and settled in to a nice pace with Sarah along side. We cruised along to about mile 10 when things started to go wrong. I suddenly was in dire need of a toilet. not a good feeling when in the middle of the desert. I spied a Port o potty ahead and ducked in. feeling like a new man I continued up the hill. I noticed a great photo op and went to take a pic of Sarah. but where was my phone? Back in the potty of course. so i turned around and ran the 1/4 mile back to the pot. Not happy. Finaly caught back up to Sarah and began up the hill again.

two miles later Sarah started to have breathing trouble. in the Pics above there is a pic of the med tent i drug her into. She didn't want to go but I know her too well to allow her to kill herself. Turns out she was having a severe asthma attack. The docs pulled her from the race. She was very upset but thankfull in the end. I continued and was going strong. At mile 19, i passed a young man on his way up the hill. he was 11 miles into the race at this point. by most standards he was moving pretty slow, but this man was different. This soldier had both of his legs blown off in Iraq. He had two prosthetics, two canes, and one gigantic smile on his face. Inspiring to say the least.

I instantly stopped cursing the pain i was feeling and thanked God that I was able to feel it.

\

I reached mile 22 and the dreaded sand pit. Ankle deep sand on a winding uphill mile long tract that humbles ever the best conditioned runners. I kept a good pace through about three quarters of the pit and had to stop and walk for a minute. Right then i felt a hand on my back. A soldier was passing me and offering words of encouragement, "come on bro, your almost there" he said as he passed. I noticed that this man had one arm. again the pain was diminished as i tried to keep pace with him. I talked to him about his injury. he told me of sitting in his barrack with his buddies when an RPG came through the window leaving four dead and seven others with amputations. I was again reminded of how grateful i was for the pain i was feeling.

When i finished i sought out Sarah and walked with her to the car. I was overcome with emotion from the experience I had just had. I was also suffering from mild heat stroke and severe dehydration. My buddy, who is an EMT, treated me with ice compresses and gave me fluids while i lay in the shade. At that moment I swore that i would never do it again.

As i sit and reflect on my experience now one week removed from the hurt, I want to do it all over again. Time is funny like that. As the survivors will attest, as the time passes the pain fades and the good memories surface. Friends made, laughs shared, the embrace of a loved one at the end of an ordeal. These are the things that remain. And as ever the faith that tomorrow will always come.

Bataan Memorial Death March

Sarah and i participated in the 21st Bataan Memorial Death March yesterday. this is a marathon distance race through the sand and desert around the White Sands Missile Range. I will post pictures and a more detailed account when i get the time but i will say that this was one of the greatest experiences of my life. To be able to pay tribute to those who have given so much to this country was moving to say the least.

I am sitting at work just praying that nobody runs from me tonight. I won't be able to give chase for long.