Acting District Ranger

That's right, from yesterday until Saturday, I'm the acting district ranger. It sounds much cooler than it is. Nothing actually changes. I don't get a pay raise, and if anything needs a district ranger, I'll just hassle my boss on the phone anyway. But it does sound neat, doesn't it?

This makes me... speechless

The article
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Punk Band Uses Picture of Slain Cop on Album

Arizona Daily Star via YellowBrix
January 17, 2009

TUCSON, AZ – Police call the actions of a local punk-rock band disgraceful after they chose to use a photo of slain Officer Erik Hite to promote their music.
The album, titled “Kill a Cop for God,” bears an Arizona Daily Star news photo that shows a wounded Hite lying on the ground with two officers administering aid.
Hite died after being shot by a gunman who led police on a crosstown chase last year.
The Star did not give the group, dubbed Awful Truth, permission to use the photo, Managing Editor Teri Hayt said.

“It’s a violation of copyright, and we have not, and would not, give permission for this photo to be used in any way,” Hayt said. “We have communicated with the band to take the necessary steps to get the image removed from sites that display and sell it.”

A song on the album also pays tribute to “the cop killers” and mentions John Montenegro Cruz, who killed Tucson police Officer Patrick Hardesty in 2003, and David Delich, who is accused of killing Hite.

Awful Truth singer David Stine said the album was put out in December. Its cover was meant to be “dark humor,” he said.

Stine said he does not apologize to anyone it may have offended.
“It’s a pretty serious picture, and the topic itself is, too,” he said. “It’s really dark humor, and as much as anybody else, we don’t particularly like cops, so we made a song about it.”

Capt. Clayton Kidd, Tucson police chief of staff, said he did not find anything humorous about the way the photo was used.

“What part of an officer giving his life is humorous?” Kidd said. "I ask for the community’s support in recognizing this is an absolute disgrace to Officer Hite, who gave his life defending our community.

“While they may have certain beliefs that they want to express, the venue in which they expressed it is disgusting, and I’m outraged.”

Contact reporter Alexis Huicochea at 573-4242 or ahuicochea@azstarnet.com.

The cutest baby in the world

Is this one. My little brother's daughter. She's three months old and I got to meet her earlier this month when I went to Grand Cayman. Mama, Sheena (my older brother's wife), Frieda (my little brother's wife) and Aurora (the cute one) and I all met in the Caribbean for a week of girls time.

The trip was fantastic. The best part was getting to spend time with everyone. Frieda and I went running every morning, Sheena was the brains and a lot of the work behind the dinners we cooked up at the resort, Mama watched Aurora while the rest of us went snorkeling, and Aurora slept a lot. When she wasn't comatose, she made animal noises almost constantly. She snorts and squeals like a piglet and squeaks like a dolphin. When she's angry she snarls like a baby tiger. I found her constantly amusing.

Here we are, on the beach. Aurora, as usual, was asleep.

Back from the Caribbean

When I get home I'll post pictures of my adorable neice. I got a great dose of Vitamin D and a bunch of new freckles. I already miss the sunshine.

Winter patrol fun

Yesterday it was -35 F at the office. But my coworkers assured me that it would be warmer farther south, where we intended to go for a snowmachine patrol.

Both of the guys I went with have frostbitten their necks in previous winters. Blisters and everything. Is it really wise to listen to them?

But I did. We went south. I was as bundled up as I could be. Long johns, fleece pants, snowmachine bibs, bunny boots with two pairs of socks. On top I had a regular long john shirt, my body armor, an expedition weight long john top (with an extra long neck), a sweater, a fleece jacket, and my regular NPS jacket. I had a balaclava and an extra neck gaiter so there would be no way for my neck to be accidentally exposed. I wore gigantic gloves and a nice warm helmet with a face piece. The face piece was designed to funnel my breath out the sides to keep the helmet from icing up, but my little hoses kept detaching. It's hard to fiddle with anything while wearing big gloves. And the rubber hoses were frozen and hard to manipulate anyway. I drove around half blinded by ice.

It was warmer farther south. It heated up to -23 F. Not quite at a range where I like to be out, but we were there, all bundled up, with three snowmachines (that barely started because of the cold. That should be a hint).

So off we went. It was a gorgeous day. Sorry I don't have any pictures, but my camera batteries would have frozen anyway. The snow covered hills were beautiful and it was sunny out (which was kind of a pain on the way back what with the glare and my iced up helmet). We crossed a couple rivers, no problem. After about an hour and a half of riding, we came upon an overflow. Picture a frozen waterfall. It was fairly level on the top, and then dropped off steeply to one side. There wasn't space to go around it with all the trees everywhere. One guy went over and then it was my turn. In no time at all I'd slid off the ledge and got stuck with one ski somehow underneath the ice shelf.

The snow was so deep, as soon as I got off the machine I was up to my waist. I floundered around trying to wrestle with a very heavy snowmachine (everything is heavier in three feet of snow). Then my coworker pulled me out with his tow strap.

I walked back to my machine on the solid ice that I'd just been riding on. I was slipping on it, it was so smooth. Then, slush, slush, POP, slurp! I punched through a slushy spot and ended up with my boot full of water! At -23 F I found this a little concerning.

I said to my coworker, "I stepped in the water."

"What?" He didn't see any water, after all. Nothing but ice and snow.

"My boot, it's full of water." Trying to remain calm.

"Your boot's full of water?" We had those big helmets on. It was hard to hear.

"Yes, my boot is full of water."

My other coworker had overheard. There was no discussion of whether or not we should head back, all he said was. "Do you want to eat before we head back?"

No, I didn't want to eat. I was worried about ending up with no toes. But I put on a dry sock and stuck it into my wet boot. And my foot still wasn't cold (although the outside of the boot was covered in a sheet of ice), so once I settled down mentally, I ate some cold couscous and frozen oatmeal cookies. The couscous reminded me of that round, grainy weird ice cream stuff. I can't remember what it's called.

I was feeling bad for being the reason we were cutting our trip short. It was only 1330, we had a few hours of daylight left. Then one of the guys, to make me feel better, dunked a whole half of his body into the water. He'd gone down the trail to turn around and came back covered in ice. He was mostly dry inside, but he told me later he would've turned back for that if we hadn't been going home already.

So what is water doing as a liquid at -23 F anyway?

We rode back and my feet stayed toasty warm. I love bunny boots. I'd never tested them at -20 F and full of water, but they work. My foot didn't get cold until I was sitting in the truck on the way home.

On the way back there was a little bit of confusion when one of the guys took a shortcut and got ahead of me. I didn't see him get ahead, and then I noticed he wasn't behind me. I stopped to wait for him. This was the guy who had gone for a swim. Of course calling him on the radio would be pointless, unless he was stuck somewhere. I listened, and didn't hear him buzzing up the trail behind me. So I called on the radio, in case he'd stopped. He didn't answer so I turned around and headed back. I imagined all kinds of trouble he could have gotten into. Maybe he really had gotten wet and was even now suffering mental difficulties as hypothermia set in. Maybe he'd fallen off the bridge. Maybe he'd gotten stuck in a snowbank with a snowmachine on top of him. I went a little ways and called for him again. I got an answer that time; both of them were up ahead waiting for me. Whew!

We made it back to the trucks without further incident.

Now today, my neck is killing me from bobbling around on that horribly rutted trail with a big helmet on. And my shoulders are sore to.

It was another cold day today (-40 F) so I mostly stayed in the office, with a miserable headache caused from my strained neck. But it was worth it to get out on the machines and soak up some much needed sunlight.

On Friday morning I'm leaving for warmer weather. Now is a good time to escape. This weekend it's supposed to "warm up" to -15 F. Oh, so sorry I'm gonna miss it!

Complaints

They mean I'm doing my job. I have to keep telling myself that.

I don't get them very often, which is good. If you were to tally up all the tickets I write or people I've arrested, the percentage who have complained (aside from those who whine about the handcuffs or the hard plastic seat) has got to be less that .001%.

In fact, I can only think of three.

1. The speeder in Sequoia. She lived in an inholding in the park, and therefore, was exempt from the traffic laws. She'd been driving that road for years, and thus was allowed to drive at a breakneck pace around blind corners. That was why she was upset anyway.

2. The EDP at Boston. He was a regular customer. In my first encounter with him he threatened to take a Boston officers gun... which didn't go over well. He got his butt kicked, but didn't seem to hold that against me the next time he came over. However, my boss had told us to get rid of him the next time he wanted to tell us his latest sob story. When I told him to leave, he turned the crazy on. He was fixing to get thwacked with my baton when the ambulance showed up and suddenly he was calm and I was the big, mean Ranger. He later told my boss I called him white trash. While apt, I hadn't thought to fling names at him.

3. The trucker who claims I'm out to get all truckers. I hope he fights his ticket and tries to say that I only stopped him because he drives a commercial vehicle. Then I hope the judge asks how many semis I've stopped in the last year... because he's the only one! And it's not my fault that he lost his job. I actually do feel bad, if that's true. But I don't feel too bad, because he was a real jerk.

So really, out of all the crazy people and law breakers I've had dealings with, these three are the only ones who've been irate enough to complain to my employer. I don't even think any of them followed up with a written complaint.

Maybe I'm not working hard enough! In over 5 years of doing law enforcement, this is all I can come up with? Three complaints?

I guess it's OK to only have three. Every time I get one, it bothers me. Which is why they do it, I suppose, to get under my skin. There's always that uncomfortable talk with the boss where I wonder if they're going to believe me or not. Even when they do, the fact that we had to have a talk is irritating. I'd much rather not know. Just trust me that I didn't call anyone names or make any threats or whatever it is they said I did and don't even tell me about it. Let me just carry on in blissful ignorance.

Gimpy, the dog

Here's an amusing dog story for you, although I wasn't amused at the time.

My roommate is still gone so I'm in charge of the dog, Moose. This morning, I slept in. I let him out to pee so he wouldn't have to wait for me to get dressed. The thermometer said it was -35 F so I was waiting at the door for him to come back. Normally, he goes out, does his business, and comes right back. Sometimes he likes to snarf around, but I figured he'd be quick since it was cold out.

I couldn't see what he was doing since the outside light on that side isn't working. But I was getting impatient. He was taking forever. What was he doing out there? I had just opened the door to call him when I saw him come limping over. His head was hanging and he was almost dragging himself. At first glance, I thought he'd been set upon by wolves! I didn't think he'd be able to pull himself up the stairs. I would have leapt out to grab him (he looked that pathetic), but I was in bare feet. He made it into the house, one hind leg in the air. And he was whining!

Now, Moose can be a cry baby. Before he realized that he was not getting his furry butt on my bed, he used to whine. But first he would beg silently with his tail flapping. It would take a while for him to whine. I'd never heard him cry from pain.

What was wrong with him?!?! I shoved him over so I could grab the foot. Did he step on something? Moose rolled to his side, collapsed in a heap. He whined and tried to lick his foot. His front feet curled up like a chipmunk as I poked at his back toes. Nothing. No blood. No wound. Just some ice between the pads.

His foot was cold.

Why didn't he come in before his foot got cold? I don't know, but obviously I need to be the brain for both of us.