Kamp Sunshine

Greetings friends,

I am doing my best to steal a moment for myself here this morning but I confess that even as I do so, guilt rides on my shoulders for not attending to the mountains of Mensa gathering business awaiting my attention. Sure, they will still be there when I am done with this, but I take my responsibilities very seriously and try to always put them ahead of my needs or wants.

Yesterday was particularly rough, as I was attacked by spambots from India, then China and finally the USA, sending me advertisement mail of every conceivable type to the tune of 200 in an hour. While I was blocking, deleting and doing what I could to keep going, I noticed more warnings popping up from my security program and then failure messages and operational failures of programs. As I was shutting down all non-essential programs still working, I noticed to my amazement and consternation, that I no longer had control of my mouse and that it was being moved remotely in an attempt to open files.

I was being actively hacked! I did as instructed by a trusted computer expert and shut down! I pulled the power cord out, pulled the battery out and briefly turned off modem and wireless router. I stayed "dark" for hours and used my phone to email warnings and briefly answer critical mail.

When I got home from a meeting that we had to attend last night, I attempted to start my computer and had to resort to my restore programs and back up information to get it back online. I also had to uninstall and re-install my security program as it had been corrupted by the attack.

So, mister or miss hacker out there, let me save you the trouble; I have no government secrets, I have no money or secret accounts, I am not the droid you are looking for; move along.

We are just a little over two weeks from the start of the national Mensa convention and work is fast and furious at this point. The stress level for all of us is high and we are all tired; and the gathering hasn't even started yet! What a roller coaster ride!

Today is our day to take Mr S. to lunch and do his grocery shopping and I anticipate that it will be emotionally draining as we try to keep things in perspective. His dementia coupled with the desire to have everything back the way it was when he was in charge of the world around him, makes for a frustrating day.

All anyone can do who is in a caretaker role, is to try to keep smiling and do the best you can do. You can't turn the clock back, and you can't restore their minds. Remind yourself frequently that you are doing the best that you can for your loved one and their demise is no one's fault, it is just life. Then when you are done, go have ice cream. Hey, it works for me!

Why don't we hop into Mr Peabody's way back machine and travel to a time when life was so much simpler and guilty pleasures were the best, because we didn't know that we were "supposed" to feel guilty. Enjoy!

Kamp Sunshine                                                       

When you are twelve years old, as I was in 1965, it doesn't take much to get you excited.

 One of the benefits of living in south Florida is the almost continuous sunshine and fresh air, which makes being out of doors the natural thing to do. Who could stay inside with sunshine you could smell and sea breezes that felt so good on your skin? Not me!

The Snake

My nearly constant companions, Larry, Sam, and Ralph and I decided on one Saturday morning that it was an excellent day for snake hunting. Our destination was the pine and palmetto forest west of the Indian Reservation, between Hollywood and Ft. Lauderdale and west of the main concentration of people.

It didn't take us long to search the area that we normally messed around in. We knew it all too well, and possibly IT knew us that well too. IF there were any critters, they certainly knew what we sounded and smelled like and avoided us with great success. Not only had we not caught any snakes, we hadn't even seen one all morning.

We made a joint decision to move to a previously unexplored patch of forest even farther to the west. The area seemed more remote and quieter than all the rest of sunny Florida and this was a good thing. We relocated and set about searching for snakes.

We didn't get too far when a Blue Racer broke cover and the chase was on! This wasn't the first time that we had worked together in this type of endeavor and we quickly caught up with the snake. Like the local nickname for this species indicated, the "Davie Cobra" turned and faced us, rearing up at least one third of its body length in an amazing threat display. This was a good one, at least four feet long and ornery. They are NOT poisonous, just mean. They really like to bite!

Larry grabbed the tail from behind while it focused on me. The snake spun and bit him on the arm causing him to let go, and the other two to jump in. They were not fast enough to grab him and he was on the go again. He fairly flew across a grassy area, apparently heading for the cover of some pine trees which were all in a row. I didn't have a clue where we were. We had been running so hard to keep up with this snake that I had lost track of where we came from. But no matter, the snake turned and reared again, it was probably getting tired. I know I sure was.

The Fence

That's when we heard the laughing.

When we stopped running and could hear again, the sound of women laughing floated to us on the breeze. A quick scan of the area made it most likely that the sound was coming from beyond the pine trees. So we went on over to the trees; we might as well, while we were gawking and listening, the snake had given us the slip and was nowhere to be seen.

When we got to the trees we could hear the voices clearly and realized that there were several women talking. What in the world were they doing out here?

Inside the tree line was a vertical board fence, meant for privacy I guess, but from whom? There wasn't even a road the way we came in. The fence was only about six feet high, problem was; we weren't. It wasn't too hard to find a break in the boards as they looked like they had been there a long time and were in need of repair.

Kamp Sunshine

Oh My God! I was so glad that they didn't fix that fence. If I had caught that snake, I'd have kissed it on the lips! Those women didn't have ANY clothes on! We had stumbled upon a nudist colony, or a naturist retreat, as they were called by some at the time. Whatever anyone else wanted to call it, to us it was paradise. We were only about twelve you know, and looking was much more than we could hope for. And, there they were; naked... ALL OVER!

There were men there too, but who cared. The women were mostly older, but all ages seemed to be represented, (from babies to grandmothers), and all shapes, sizes, hair color and degrees of tan were on display.

We had found enough openings so that all of us had our own spot to look through, and we recognized several of the people inside. I was glad that I wasn't required to speak at that point. I don't think that I could have made any sound come out. WOW!

Being deeply engrossed in our studies of the female version of human anatomy and its moving parts, we didn't hear the old guy walk up on us. He was the caretaker and security guard for Kamp Sunshine and was patrolling the "perimeter" when he spotted us.

This guy was the walking, talking example of living to be old. He was in his late seventies or more, wrinkled, a scraggly grey beard stubble like he hadn’t shaved for a week and suntanned the color of old leather. He was uniformed in Khaki shorts, flip flops and a pith helmet, with a gut hanging over his belt line that seemed to need a wheelbarrow, and with the white coating on his nose like a lifeguard, maybe he was that too!

When he saw us he spit out the stump of a cigar that he had been chewing on and started yelling obscenities and making threats against our male parts if we didn't depart with the utmost haste and certainty. The guy was very annoying... but we were under the influence of guilt at the time, so we complied.

By the time we had entered the trees on the other side of the grassy clearing, we came to our senses. We went right back to our spots and continued our observations of the female form in motion; which was lovely, just lovely!

I guess the old guy must have figured us out. Instead of continuing around on his loop, he doubled back on us, stopping by his guard shack to grab his shotgun.

The Battle

He came at us yelling and pointing the shotgun. Not knowing what he would do, we had to go on what he could do, and took off on the run. As we gained momentum we felt safer and then the blast hit us from behind. Thank God it was only rock salt, man that stuff stings!

Shooting us was not necessary and we were mad about it. We went back to the car, which we found by back-tracking our own footprints, and went after some equalizers.  We rounded up some BB guns and ammunition and headed back to even the score with him for blasting us while running away. One slight problem: we didn't recognize the starting point to get to the Kamp.

Then we caught a break. Where there is a helicopter circling, there are naked women below. The local "Eye-in-the-Sky" traffic helicopter was locked right on to the volleyball game in progress and turning in tight circles.

We took our positions once more, but up in the trees this time, loaded and ready. There we waited for our chance, which came before too long. The old man appeared, talking to himself and still packing that shotgun. When he got close enough we yelled at him and as he raised the shotgun to shoot us again, we let him have it from all sides! We were only shooting BBs and without much power behind them, so they weren’t going to do any damage to his leather-like hide. And, no head shots were ever allowed, by our own rules.

He retreated and we figured that we had stirred up enough trouble. What we had done was very likely to get the cops called on us, so we reluctantly left "paradise" and went back to the world of "clothing NOT optional" and other bitter realities of life. We didn't return again. We figured that the old guard probably changed his ammunition to something more lethal (like bird shot) and would be waiting for the chance to get even with us.

When I recognized certain women after that I couldn’t help but remember what I had seen, and it always brought a smile to my face. Life was indeed very exciting at twelve years old in the Sunshine state! 

Kailua Kona

Welcome to Friday my weary friends! It has been a long week, of long days for me and probably all of you as well, as we try to do too much in too short of a time span. With the amount of sunshine we have now it is hard to stop trying to do "one more thing" while it is still light outside.

The weather for beautiful downtown Fallon, where the birds go human watching and the dogs take naps, will be mostly sun covered skies and a very pleasant 80 Fahrenheits to warm the bones, while we hang onto our hats because of the 20-30 mph winds from the west. Don't let the mild temperatures fool you, put on that sunblock if you will spend any time outside the UV index is Very High.

I am trying to hold tough and write this blog as the e-mails bang into my inbox and trigger my insane compulsion to answer them immediately, but it is hard. I have to remind myself (and you should too) that no matter what job we have taken on, we must do what it takes to keep our own sanity or the rest won't matter anyway.

Today we take Mr S. to lunch and then to nuthouse that is Wally World to do his shopping. I am apprehensive as to what his mental state will be this morning after spending hours with him earlier this week and seeing that his short term ability to remember anything was almost nil. We were making duct tape roses (google it) which is not a difficult project and is mostly repetition. He had to be told each time we did a step how to do it, over and over again. Which we did of course, but it is difficult to watch someone who was capable of complex construction thinking, unable to remember how to fold a piece of tape.

Mr S. has been feeding the birds in the parking lot outside of his assisted living complex and the other residents and staff leave a parking space open, just for the birds. He is over doing it, dumping about 20 lbs of birdseed out there a week, but the birds aren't complaining and the residents are having fun watching quail, doves, pigeons, yellow-headed blackbirds and the ever present sparrows gorge themselves. If it makes him happy, we will continue hauling bags of seed to him. It is funny to watch what happens when someone parks where the birds eat and the residents give them Hell for blocking the birds spot. The facial expressions are priceless as they splutter out, "I didn't know, I didn't know!"

Also on today's agenda is a trip to Reno for one errand and then the Bridal Shower for our soon to be daughter-in-law Ashley. She is a delightful girl and brings a lot of joy and stability to our son Patrick and we are very happy to have her in our family. Which leads us to today's story.

Anna and I got married January 1, 1996 and after an epic battle with my Postmaster who tried to cancel my leave, we departed on our Honeymoon to Hawaii. The following is the tale of our day trip to the big island to see the erupting volcanoes. I hope you enjoy the travelogue.

Kailua Kona

I trusted someone else to make the arrangements and didn't follow up on it myself, so it's as much my fault as the travel agent. We planned a day trip to Volcanoes National Park on the Big Island, Hawaii, during our honeymoon in 1996 and it almost turned into an "over-nighter" without the park.

To travel inter-island via air, you have to go through Honolulu coming and going, at least you did on Hawaiian Air in January of 1996 when we did it; and Honolulu Airport is no fun on a good day.

We left Maui on the first flight out in the morning, bound for Honolulu and our connecting flight, back across Maui to Hawaii, the Big Island, home of Volcanoes National Park. The flight to Oahu was easy, nothing to it; but when you have to deal with the desk people at the gates in the Honolulu airport, you wonder why you subject yourself to such aggravation. They routinely overbook and will sell your seat right out from under you, or bump you for some one that they are trying to make points with or taking a bribe from, like the Japanese business groups from the home office of Hawaiian Air. They tried to bump us from our connecting flight to Kona but I wouldn't stand for it.

If I had paid more attention to the arrangements we wouldn't have flown into the Kailua Kona airport. It was as far in the opposite direction from the park that you could go. We should have flown into Hilo and then it would just be a short ride to the Volcanoes. But shoulda and coulda, don't fix much.

We had a rental car reserved at the Kona airport and when we got off the DC-9 and went to Dollar Rent-A-Car, (who we had used several times and liked), they showed our reservation all right; but no car. They said that we should just wait and it would come in. After a round of I-don't-think-so, they offered to upgrade us to another car for only.... I wasn't buying it, I said NO. Same price, your fault! OK, OK. They hate it when the crazy howlie gets in their face.

They gave us a Chrysler Lebaron convertible instead of the compact car. After losing an hour messing around with rental car BS, we finally hit the road. There was still the little matter of driving around to the other side of the island, seeing the park, and making it to Hilo to fly out again. Oh Yeah; we had them change our departure point from Kona to Hilo. We never would have made it on time otherwise.

The convertible was a nice touch; at first. Sunny Hawaii and all, but as Murphy was our tour guide on this expedition, naturally it started to rain and continued to rain for most of the trip around the southern end of the really big, (at least it seemed like it), island.

I wanted to see the black sand beaches, so when we saw the sign for the turn off, we took it and followed the short road to the beach. It was as black as ground up fresh charcoal and there were people of all sizes, shapes, and modes of dress on that ebony landscape.

There were a couple of girls in their twenties on a towel wearing only a thong bottom, with several admirers drooling around them. A family of Europeans, (who proved to be German once we heard them speak), swimming around the rocks with snorkels; looking at or for something, I couldn't quite figure it out. There was a self-proclaimed priest of some variety preaching away, standing waist deep in the water wearing a tie-dyed caftan and sporting a head full of hair growing in all directions and an equally profuse beard, all in a silvery-gray color. A small contingent of the black socks and sandals crowd off of a tour bus, and a scattering of the rest of us; who were a more or less normal appearing group.

In the gift shop/concession stand/you name it store, they were selling samples of black sand in a bottle, but right along side of that was a sign that proclaimed the bad luck which would befall you if you removed any sand from this sacred beach. I didn't need any more bad luck, and I didn't need to bring sand home to Nevada. Sand we have lots of!

As we were taking a few pictures, while working our way back to the car to leave, a local resident became very belligerent and aggressive, giving voice to his opinion of tourists in general, and me in particular; and I hadn't done a stinking thing to him! When he started poking me in the legs and trying to bite me, I had finally had enough and picked up a stick to whack him with. And then I saw the sign. Damn! He was a protected species of pest. A Hawaiian NeNe Goose to be exact. What a bully!

On around to the park we raced, wanting to get there while we still had enough light to use all the camera gear we were hauling with us and get some spectacular shots of molten lava flowing to the sea. It was going to be awesome!

We finally reached the turn off and marveled at the lack of traffic; until we reached the entrance gate and there sitting in his car, munching potato chips, listening to the radio was the gate guard. The sign said "Park Closed". What the Hell do they mean, "Park Closed!" we drove, and flew, and waited, and flew, and drove some more, to see this park! Nowhere in our travels on this day, did anything say that the "Volcanoes National Park" is closed. I asked if we could just drive the loop, once around, staying in our auto and take a look and then come right back out and check out with him.

It wasn't the "no", as much as it was the way it was delivered to us, that made me angry. The jerk said, "What don't you understand? I said no, STUPID!" I wanted to remove this insignificant gnat from his home on wheels and throw him into the molten lava that we were not going to be allowed to see, and sacrifice him to the Gods of Vacationing-with-limited-time-and-funds, to appease their anger with us. They must be angry to keep "Murphying" all over us like this! The Park was closed because of the "No Money to run the Government" BS they pulled in January of 1996 and we unknowingly timed it perfectly!

Anna wouldn't let me hurt him, so we left, following the perimeter of the park in the general direction of Hilo, where we had to end up to catch our flight, etc. We could see a plume of steam rising from where the lava hit the sea and it was calling to us and we kept trying to go to it, following roads to nowhere through cane fields and small communities. We traveled past more and more empty buildings, always turning towards the steam. Somehow we located a road that took us to the edge of a recent lava flow.

It was completely cooled and hard and the signs said "Keep Out" and "No Trespassing" so of course we went on in. We weren't alone, there were quite a few people who weren't ready to accept "No" for an answer and were trying to reach the current lava flow, specifically where it emptied into the ocean. We went as far as time allowed and took pictures of where the lava had crossed the road and just bulldozed everything in it's path and then had to leave for Hilo and our flight.

We made it to Hilo in good time and even took time out for a bite to eat at Port of Subs. We got the car gassed up and turned in to the Dollar Rent-A-Car folks and checked in for our flight back to Honolulu then on to Maui. I was looking forward to the ocean breezes coming in through the open doors of our 7th floor balcony, back at the Kaanapali Shores. I was ready for a nap but we still had some traveling to do yet.

When we checked in at the desk, it wasn't looking real good; the place was packed solid with outbound passengers and we were booked on the last flight out. After about an hour we started hearing noises about the last flight being canceled due to mechanical problems, and we were getting worried that we were going to be stuck in this airport all night with countless gobs of people and no where to go, and no car either, we had already turned that in.

After working in the aviation industry for years, I knew that everything was not always as it seems and looked over the ticketing and gate crew until I spotted what I recognized as an old veteran who knew the ways of the business and could make things happen. I approached this person with a nonchalant, but friendly question about: what would the procedure be for connecting flights to Maui and where was the airline going to put us up and feed us for making us miss our flights, etc.

When the "blame" and reason for "out of budget" expense falls on their watch, the effort to accommodate the "connecting" passengers seems to intensify and things begin to happen. No one wants the finger of blame pointed their way.

The gate attendant told me to wait by the railing at a particular gate and as soon as there was an airplane on the ramp, we were being escorted out to it and boarded right away. We had no more gotten our seat belts fastened than the plane was on it's way to Honolulu, bypassing Kona because we had no room and no one to offload there.

The flight was short and smooth and also the last flight out of Hilo that night. They shut the airport down right behind us; no more airplanes until 7:00 a.m. Hawaiian time. Which could mean 7 a.m. or 8 a.m. "all-a-same-same" whenever. "Hawaiian" time is a general estimate and not to be confused with the position of clock hands.

When we landed at the Honolulu airport, I asked the gate attendant about the flight to Maui and was informed that it was boarding and would be leaving real soon. And it was... you guessed it; the last flight of the night! Using my lifetime of being in airports skills, I asked the gate attendant to call over to the departure gate and tell them that we were on our way to them and already had tickets, and that we had just arrived on their airline and that we requested that they hold the flight until we boarded. After all it was their fault that we were late again.

If you know the right words to use, you can get things a little closer to your way; they held the flight and we ran to the gate and got on board and had safe and very smooth flight to Maui. Where our little gray Cirrus rental car was sleeping in the parking lot, waiting for us to get back.

We made it back to the hotel just in time to get a piece of cheese cake from the restaurant and take it up to our room and collapse. What a day!

One last note: Never book the last flight of the day flying inter-island, the cancellation rate is ten times that of the rest of the day, according to the airline people themselves. For whatever reason; pilot fatigue, flight hours, mechanical problems, not enough passengers to bother with, good party to go to, don't feel like making one more run tonight; they will pull the plug on you! Fly smarter and you will have less stress!

A Stampede of One!

Greetings fellow travelers, does everyone have their towel?

The weather forecast for beautiful downtown Fallon, where farm implements still travel Main Street and drivers obey the speed limits, will be a warm 94F under sunny skies with a light breeze of 8 mph from the SSW to stir the cotton floating in the air. Drink more water than you think that you will need! Do it!

It has been an eventful and busy week with appointments every day and tasks to accomplish, and the never ending stream of e-mail that threatens to burst my inbox, and my brain.

Mr S. continues to deteriorate mentally with his dementia, now believing that he is "better than ever" and can live on his own again and get a car. Which he told us four times in a row without realizing that he had said it before. Fear not America, we will not turn him loose on the highways. We took him to the doctor early in the week for a check up and adjusted his pain medication to help with the degenerative joint disease and arthritis in his knee, which may account for his feeling "better than ever". He has yet another appointment today.

It is a very hard task to do what you have to do to care for the older members of your family, because you also are trying to preserve their dignity while keeping them safe and as healthy as possible.

We also had to make the tough decision to give away our young dog Jessi, who was just too much for us to handle and never really fit in with our old dog or our lifestyle. She is better off with someone who can and will spend all of their time with just her. It was a choice that had to be made. Mikki (our 10 yr old Border Collie) is happy and relaxed again and doesn't feel the need to run outside and bark constantly. Life is calm again.

We are one month from moving into the Silver Legacy for the Mensa AG and the pace will be frantic for the next 40 days or so. I am looking forward to this 5 year ordeal being over. And so is my doctor.

Today we will hop in Mr Peabody's way back machine and travel to Alaska and 1978. Put on your warm coat because it is freezing cold outside!

A Stampede of One!

It was January of 1978 and I was at Ft. Greely located at Delta Junction, Alaska where “Operation Jack Frost” was about to get underway. It was 65 below zero without figuring the wind chill, and the wind was blowing steadily and hard. The official reported wind chill was minus 120F. Damn it was cold!

Fort Greely is a U.S. Army base and the home of the Arctic Test Center. It has a large, but unmanned airport located on it, (that we were now using) and the University of Alaska has a large parcel of land adjoining it where they do agricultural studies of all types, including animal adaptability to severe winter conditions. This agricultural center is home to one of the largest buffalo herds in existence and they are not always where they are supposed to be. However, wherever they are they are very, very protected. In essence, they could do no wrong.

There is a paved road that runs between the airport and the Ag Center and it is patrolled by the Alaska Highway Patrol, who are your only hope of getting help if you break down on this stretch of highway. Because of the remoteness and lack of equipment, all of the vehicles that operate in and around Ft. Greely and DJ (Delta Junction) use the same radio frequency, including the AHP.

One afternoon, a day or so before the big exercise was to begin, we got a call from a Highway Patrol unit saying that a very large bull buffalo was on the highway itself and he was going to chase it off before somebody hit it in the snowstorm that was going on at the time. We could see him (actually his car) easily, he was straight out from the tower, stopped in the middle of the road, about a mile from us. 

This young police officer was new to the district and had grown up with cows, but had never experienced the size and attitude that comes wrapped in a buffalo robe. He had no way of knowing that he was facing a bull that ripped gates off of their hinges and ran through barbed wire fences for fun.

Right after the trooper ended his radio transmission; we heard another, really bad, radio call that we could only understand the word "lights" out of all that was said. I grabbed the radio and transmitted instructions to, "Say again Lights?" basically asking for a repeat of the message. I had no more un-keyed the microphone and the partial answer, "lights" and "buffalo" came through that time.

What we didn't know was that a gamekeeper from the Ag Center, (who was nearly out of radio range), was trying to warn the trooper NOT to use his flashing lights because he knew the bull that was out there was "Bob" (which I was told stood for Bad old bastard) and lights or even anything shiny, sent that particular animal into a berserk rage for some reason. Bob had been exiled from the lower 48 for causing destruction everywhere he went, he was truly a "Stampede" all by himself.

As you would guess, the trooper heard the same thing that we did; but he thought that he was being advised to USE his flashing lights to run the bull off the highway. So when he turned them on, the bull charged the patrol car and head-butted the radiator! Bob smashed that radiator right back into the fan and "killed" the unit! This was the newest vehicle in the AHP fleet and had not had the push bar/grill guard installed over the plastic grill, and didn't have a scratch on it. Until now that is!

The old buffalo staggered off a bit dazed and the officer got out of his vehicle, (which was a decidedly bad choice) to inspect the damage. He did hang his radio microphone out of the partially opened window (and then rolled it up to keep the warmth in), so that he could communicate if necessary.

Of course “Murphy” is known to ride with police officers too, so as luck would have it; he also unwittingly locked his door; with the keys inside. Well, big deal you might say, the car was out of service anyway; but you forget about the Bob, and the lights that were still going around and around.

When the bull shook off the affects of his collision with the cruiser, he saw the lights again and proceeded to launch another attack; this time with the trooper on the outside of the vehicle and suddenly very aware of his position.

He yelled into the radio microphone as he started to run around the car, "I need permission to fire" and took off around the vehicle, trying to keep the car between him and the four-legged demolition unit.

That ornery buffalo proceeded to bang the sides in on the car and broke the glass on both ends (because the headlights and taillights were flashing) and when the trooper got back to his radio he again yelled, "Please get permission to fire". About that time Bob jumped onto the hood and roof of the patrol unit going after those infuriating lights and the officer was in dire straits. He was still holding off shooting until he had permission to blast the beast. It certainly seemed ridiculous, but he was scared of the consequences if he should shoot one of these critters without authorization. He was the new guy in the district (and still on probation) and had been briefed about how precious and valuable the buffalo herd was and how HE (the trooper) was replaceable.

Finally, there came a loud and booming voice over the radio; somebody said, "Shoot the Damned Thing!" And he did, six times, and reloaded his 44 magnum revolver, but it had done its work and he was safe finally.

We “officially” never did find out who gave the order, but it was alright with us and I'm sure it was just dandy with the trooper. I had my suspicions based upon the signal strength and clarity of the radio call, but I wasn’t going to even voice my opinion, he was too far up the food chain for me to say anything about and I agreed with what he did.

The University veterinarian performed an autopsy as a matter of procedure. Of course it was pretty obvious that "lead poisoning" from a 44 magnum was the reason for his demise, but that buffalo had been acting very strange before this incident and he wanted to try and find out why.

The doctor had his answer in very short order; the old rascal had a huge brain tumor and he wouldn't have made it much longer anyway. He felt that the tumor caused extreme light sensitivity and possibly pain from the intensity of the flashes, thus driving the bull into a frenzy.

The Ag Center guys were happy that this cantankerous old bull got to go out in a "Blaze of Glory" doing battle and not wasting away to nothing standing in a holding pen somewhere, waiting for the inevitable. They also heaved a huge sigh of relief that they wouldn't have to repair the pens and fences daily any more and constantly have to watch over their shoulder for the surprise attacks of Bad old Bob.

The trooper was exonerated of any wrong-doing in the shooting and cleared of any negligence in regards to the complete and utter destruction of one brand new 1978 patrol unit, with less than 500 miles on it as it happens.

As for the buffalo, he has a plaque on the wall at the Ag Center in DJ telling of the "Great Battle" and he provided one hell of a barbeque that following June when they unfroze his carcass and invited the entire staff of the Alaska Highway Patrol to a feast in honor of the two "combatants".

You've got to love that Alaska sense of humor!