Mt. Cardigan

In striving towards my goal of getting (or staying) in shape and outdoors, I went out for a snowshoe on Saturday. My trusty snowshoes haven't seen the light of day on a snow covered trail since George W's first term.

While digging through my winter gear I found my Chena Goldstream hat. I also found my big military mittens with the fuzzy snot wiper part on the back. Since it was only 36 degrees F, I took a lighter pair of gloves and a hanky.
Here's the start of the trail. Mt. Cardigan is in New Hampshire. It's a 2 hour drive from my house, about the same as Mt. Monadnock, but I picked here because Ed recommended it. Now, Ed doesn't have such a long drive to get here since this is near his house. I really like the area and I entertained the thought of doing what Ed does and driving 2 hours to work everyday so he can live out here... and then I quickly decided that driving 2 hours once every couple of weeks is much better than driving 2 hours 5 times a week. Even if it meant I could live in the woods again.

At the trail head there's an Appalachian Mountain Club lodge. I stopped in to get a map and the guy there asked if I was skiing or hiking. "Hiking?" I thought, "in two feet of snow? Isn't there two feet of snow out there? Do they plow the trails or something?" I told him neither, I have snowshoes. Apparently, it's not called "snowshoeing" here, it's just hiking. With snowshoes on.

If you'll notice, the start of the trail has tracks on it already. Ski tracks. That section of trail was .2 miles long and I just breezed along, thinking that despite the long snowshoeing sabbatical, I was going to have an easy day. Then I got here, to the Manning trail. The one I was taking. Fresh, clean snow. Unbroken trail. The going got much slower from here on out. Especially since this is also where it started getting steep. Without the handy claws on the bottom of my shoes, I'd have slid backwards down the mountain.
There was supposed to be some kind of view, but it got foggy near the top.
This is where I turned around. It was 2:15pm and I wasn't sure how long it would take me to hike down or when the sun sets. Saturday was the shortest day of the year, after all. On Friday I woke up at 3:30pm, but I couldn't remember if it was still light out or if it had gotten dark already. I had a headlamp, but with the steep hike down I didn't particularly want to do it in the dark. As it turned out, the hike back was only 45 minutes. This was due to the steepness (and the now broken trail). Even with the claws I was able to slide down most of the way if I concentrated on keeping my toes up and leaping frantically if I started to get traction. It worked out well and I was back at the trail head by 3pm. It was light out until at least 4:30, which left me a little disgusted because I could've gone farther.

Except for the guy in the lodge, I didn't see a single person out there. After I left the ski trail the only tracks I saw were my own, a moose, and random rodent and mustelid sign. By mustelids I mean weasels, in this case. I was the most obnoxiously noisy creature in the forest. When I did stop my thunderous racket I heard chickadees, the soft tapping of woodpeckers, and the muffled whumping of snow falling from tree branches. It was a beautiful day to be out.

On the way home I was driving through Bristol, NH when I saw an Irish restaurant. It was so completely random and I was so completely famished that I had to stop in. I can't remember the name of the place, since it was in Gaelic. I had the all day Irish breakfast. Rashers (thick Irish bacon), baked beans, thick cut chips, Irish sausage, two eggs, one of those cooked tomatoes, black and white pudding. I'd never had the white pudding before. The server told me it was pig (I didn't really want to know anymore than that). Black pudding isn't my favorite, but the white is really good. I was kind of overloaded on meat products and I wasn't able to eat it all. The apple pie I'd been craving was out of the question. I'll have to get it next time.

Although, next week I think I'll explore the Blue Hills Reservation. There are hiking trails there and it's only 10 miles from my house. TEN MILES!!! Why didn't I know of this place before? Ed says the trails are a lot easier and parking is hard to find because of the hordes of people. The highest "hill" is 635 feet. But I could hike a lot longer and skip the four hours sitting in the car (5 if you count the hour nap I needed on the way home). I think I'll give it a try.

SRT

Despite ex drama, I've actually gotten some decent sleep lately. Today I slept through a fire alarm in my building. That's pretty hard to do, but it goes to show how well I've soundproofed my room. I have a fan going and sleep with earplugs. And the alarm is out in the hallway on the second floor so the sound had to travel to my floor and through my guestroom. Thankfully, the building wasn't on fire. Bill did think of me (what a nice man) and he was going to knock on my door when the alarm stopped.

The reason I was sleeping so hard was because I'd worked a double, from 10pm Tuesday night to Wednesday afternoon. Our Special Agent (SA) here at the park (you could call him our Investigator or Detective) is in charge of the Special Response team. He started it up in January after I'd left for FLETC so we can start serving our own warrants. The US Marshall's are a little busy for our stuff, I guess.

I applied for the team while I was gone, but of course, they didn't want me when I wasn't around. When I came back in September they had an opening on the team and I thought I'd get on, no problem. My boss thought so and he's on the team. I talked with the SA in October and it sounded like he didn't want me on the team after all. He said he was going to have to open it up for everyone to apply and if anyone with more seniority than I wanted to get on, I'd be out of luck. I figured he was just looking for an excuse to not put me on the team since if anyone else were interested they'd have applied back in January like I did.

I was a little ticked, which was why I started looking around at other jobs. Whiskeytown NRA has a subject to furlough job and I just got my application to Padre Island all ready.

Then the SRT team had a day of training at the range and the SA invited me, even though I'm not on the team. I figured he wanted to see if I could shoot and I better do a good job if I wanted on. Saturday I dragged myself out of bed and went to the range to practice my 25 yard and support hand pistol shooting.

The practice paid off (I had some sweet center mass shots at 25 yards!). We shot the 60 round FLETC course of fire (instead of the much easier 30 round course for qualification). There are 300 points possible. My best score ever was a 298 while I was at FLETC shooting everyday. Since we don't normally shoot this course, we somehow managed to shoot to many rounds (67 instead of 60). So the scores were kind of messed up, but I had the second highest score of the group. Only the SA shot better. He's thinking of using the FLETC course to qualify the SRT team members, since it's a better course of fire.

Afterwards we qualified with the regular course and then played with our rifles. I got my laser sight dialed in (which is really cool. Much quicker target acquisition).

At the end of the day the SA made the announcement that I'm the newest member of the team! And he said, "You should all be scared, she's a really good shot."

I'm pretty excited. I'll be going to SWAT school!!! A week of training in New Jersey. I'll probably be the only woman there, but the SA says I can hold my own.

If I end up going to SWAT school in the spring, I'll stay here for another year. That's the deal. They buy my gear, send me to training, and ask that I give them a year. Then I'm free to move on. So I'm not going to apply to those other parks. Instead, I'll make the best of staying here. I'll get another year of bagpipe lessons and maybe join the band if I put in more time practicing. And staying here is good for my vacations. I was worried that if I got a job elsewhere it would screw up my trip to Nepal, the two weeks in Switzerland in August, and Laura's visit in April.

They do treat me pretty well here. I get all the vacation I want with minimal hassle, they gave me weekends off, and I'm on the team!!! There will be other cool jobs I can apply for in a year.

Wow

...is all I can say. My ex-boyfriend called my Mother.

I was trying to nap, I had a spare hour. Now I can forget about it (not your fault Mama, I'm glad you called and told me). I might as well write on here.

This is out of hand. For several reasons:

1. What could he possibly have to say to my mother?
2. Why would he call her? (I guess that's the same as #1)
3. He has never met either of my parents.
4. How could he think this would be acceptable behavior?
5. How on earth did he get her number?

We'll never know why he called or what he wanted to say because as soon as my mom realized who he was she let him have it. All he was able to get out was that he "wanted to talk." Mama yelled at him, told him to never call her (or me) again and hung up on him. A very good Mama. An angry bear Mama.

Mama reminded me that I'd complained about his constant phone calls the last time I saw her (back in June at my FLETC graduation). JUNE! How long is this going to continue?

Mama's worried that he'll come here. He knows where I live. I don't really think he would... then again, I never in a million years thought he would call my parents.

I must admit that last week I dreamed he broke into my house. He rang the bell and my roommate Bill answered the door. He pushed past Bill and I heard all the commotion and started to run down the stairs, smacking right into my ex as I rounded the corner. I startled myself so bad I woke up. Then I laid in bed thinking of all the ways I'd kick his ass if he did show up on my doorstep. That was the end of my sleep for the night.

I wonder if my ex-friend Michelle has been hassled for information (they're neighbors). I don't think, even hating me, she'd give him my parents phone number. I don't think she even has it. She might know their address... which would make it easier to look them up. I can't imagine her wishing to cause me harm, but she could have done it unknowingly. After all, when we broke up, she assumed I had been using him, and she took his side (a man she hardly knew) over mine. So if he went to her for information, she would probably give it to him, seeing only a heartbroken man that her former friend used and abused so dreadfully.

Then again, maybe he found their number all by himself.

My other concern is this blog. I may have to go underground. I tried to make it unsearchable, but if he's clever enough he can find me through Michelle's blog to Shannon's. I leave comments on Shannon's blog. The whole reason I started this blog was because he was on Myspace and I didn't want him to read my blogs there. I finally deleted him from my friends and made myspace private. I wonder if I can do that here? But I don't want to exclude comments from all the neat and interesting people that come by.

Dang it, I really like my blog! Anyone have advice on blog security?

A story of the Christmas spirit

I think a hero is an ordinary individual who finds strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.
-Christopher Reeve

We all have heard the story of the Texas clock tower massacre where the former marine with the brain tumor went to the top of the tower with a rifle and started killing people. It happened back in 1966. I didn't know the rest of the story, but to me, the people who took action against Whitman really embody the Christmas spirit. They loved their fellow human beings so much that they took action. They went home and got their rifles and even a plane, to try to stop him.

I love stories of regular citizens being extraordinary. It helps dispel the wrath I feel when my friend got hit by a car during morning rush hour and no one stopped to help him (least of all the person who hit him). And other stories I hear of people running around with blinders on because their business is more important than anything else.

Enjoy. It's from an article by Rick Armellino.


When the average citizen snaps and murders, the results are bad. When a recently trained, physically fit and well armed former Marine decides to commit mass murder the situation can be catastrophic. On August 1st, 1966, the citizens of Austin, Texas experienced a horrific event, forever known as "The Texas Clock Tower Massacre".

An honorably discharged U.S. Marine named Charles Whitman was attending engineering school at the University of Texas in Austin and one night he snapped, savagely stabbing his wife and mother to death at each of their respective homes. The morning after, Whitman secured his gun locker onto a wheeled dolly, rolled it into the university’s main administration building and headed up the elevator. Weighing an estimated 250 pounds, the gun locker contained 5 rifles, 3 handguns, a sawed-off shotgun, ample ammunition, binoculars, food and water. [of course my first question was, "Didn't anyone notice the guy with the gun locker going up the elevator? But it was 1966 and we weren't used to mass murderers then.]


The Main Bell Tower at the University of Texas is shown in 1999, in Austin, Texas. (AP Photo/Harry Cabluck)This well trained homicidal and suicidal predator had chosen a tactically superior location to play out his last living events on earth. In addition to the University of Texas administration building being a virtual stone fortress, it was located on a hilltop that overlooked much of the City of Austin. Exiting the elevator on the 27th floor, Whitman lugged his gun locker up the stairs to the top floor and proceeded to shoot the four occupants, gaining full control of the observation deck.

The University of Texas clock tower, surrounded by the concrete observation deck, was both a snipers' dream and a police nightmare. The cement and stone block construction of this section of the building included recessed rain gutters, enabling him to remain low, unseen and well protected from return fire. Whitman had a nearly unlimited ability to maneuver and change shooting positions at will. He barricaded the doorways and then continued working his final plan - to kill every human in sight.

Charles Whitman was a well trained Marine receiving above average grades for marksmanship, excelling at hitting moving targets. For the next hour and a half Whitman methodically fired upon the citizens of Austin, killing 16 and wounded 31, hitting some as they attempted to pull seriously wounded victims to safety and others as they peeked out from behind cover to locate the sniper’s position. Whitman may have been a heartless deranged killer, but he was amazingly quick, agile and an exceptionally good shot.

Don't mess with Texas
The brave citizens of Austin also knew how to shoot. Red-blooded Texans were up for the fight, outraged that this maniac was killing their own. Some scrambled home, grabbed their most accurate weapon and hurried back to the school to exchange gunfire with the unknown sniper.
A local pilot rushed to the nearby airport and returned flying a small aircraft carrying a passenger armed with a scoped hunting rifle. Unfortunately, low level air turbulence prevented accurate aiming at Whitman. As the plane circled the tower it took 14 of Whitman’s well aimed rounds through various sections of the metal tube and fabric covered structure, narrowly missing both occupants. The airmen retreated to a safe distance after realizing they were on the losing side of this air-to-ground battle.

Two young Austin police officers, without prior coordination, steadily made their way into the administration building and up to the 27th floor. Patrolman Houston McCoy, armed with a 12 gauge shotgun, had graduated the police academy less than three years earlier and Patrolman Ramiro (Ray) Martinez, armed with his Smith & Wesson .38 caliber duty revolver, had less than five years on the job. [it boggles my mind that even now, some departments don't make long guns available to patrol officers. At least Austin PD had some sense back in 1966.]

Martinez, revolver in hand, recalled his thoughts as he rode the elevator up towards the unknown sniper, “of course you could see the little lights flicker (on the elevator’s panel) as the floors go by. I said an Act of Contrition, because as a Catholic I was taught that in case of imminent death, you know, you say an Act of Contrition." As the elevator door opened he spied Patrolman McCoy and a man with a rifle, whom he did not know but assumed, was a plain clothes officer. The three men conversed briefly and then slowly and deliberately climbed the stairs from the 27th floor leading up to the observation deck's reception area. Upon reaching the top of the stairwell, they found two people dead and two critically injured at the reception area.
Standing at the top of the stairs, Martinez remembers the armed plain clothes man whispered a question, “he said, ‘are we playing for keeps?’ And I looked at him, and I said, as I saw dead people there, and you know all the dead people outside, I said, ‘You damn right we are.’ He said, ‘Well, you better deputize me.’ That’s when I found out that he was a civilian. And I said, ‘consider yourself deputized'."

Patrolman Martinez began kicking the glass-paneled door leading outside to the observation deck. It was jammed by the wooden dolly that Whitman used to transport his gun locker. The dolly finally gave way and tipped over. Martinez recalled this particularly anxious moment, “and then it went over, clanging. And I braced myself. I figured that he, the sniper, could hear this. And there was no response, but you know, all that shooting, I’m pretty sure he didn’t hear it.”
The hastily assembled contact team, including the armed citizen, stealthily made their way outside onto the observation deck. The sniper was not in view. The sporadic and frequent crack of rifle fire was deafening, but sound alone could not determine exactly where on the deck the sniper was positioned; it was too loud and too close. Martinez, McCoy and the armed citizen, in line and in that order, slowly rounded the first corner. They couldn't see the sniper because the clock tower protruded and blocked their line of sight. Continuing their approach, they soon spotted Whitman, who was intently firing his rifle pointed over the southwest corner. Whitman, comfortably on the attack, was unaware he was no longer the hunter and was now considered the prey.

Wasting no time, Martinez carefully aimed his revolver and described what happened next. "That's when I fired the first round, and I charged. I hit him - left side somewhere - and he came up with the rifle. He was trying to turn and to fire. I kept charging him and shooting, and McCoy was right behind me. I hollered at McCoy to shoot, and he did - hit him with the shotgun,” Martinez said.

McCoy had instinctively shifted to Martinez’s right side and fired two shotgun rounds at Whitman. McCoy recalls, “all of sudden he just slowly slid down into a laying position. He was no more dangerous. Still to this day I didn't need that second shot."

Prophetically, Whitman had left a written journal which, in part, specifically requested the coroner to autopsy his brain. When accomplished, a large tumor was discovered which was applying pressure to the region of the brain that controls violent and impulsive tendencies.
It has been reported that the so-called Texas Clock Tower Massacre was the mass murder event that rallied law enforcements' call for the creation of the modern day SWAT team.

Men. Arrrgh.

My ex-boyfriend won't leave me alone. For the record, we broke up in March. We have now been broken up longer than we ever dated.

After we broke up he would call every Sunday. I was usually in the FLETC computer lab in the afternoon so I wouldn't answer. He would call every half hour until I did.

In May I told him he couldn't call me for two months because he was obviously not getting over our relationship. And he was ruining my Sunday. I would wake up with a dark cloud over me, knowing I would have to talk to him. (Thinking that I would have to talk to him when I didn't want to is an example of me trying to be a nice person. Girls are taught to be nice, to let guys off easy, not to crush them.)

In June he sent me an email asking if he could buy me a laptop for my birthday. No!

On my birthday he sent me a text, "Happy Birthday, Baby." Excuse me? He has no right to call me that!

In July, I was living without cell service at my house in West Virginia. It must have been when the two month moratorium was over. I had at least half a dozen missed calls from him before I sent him a text telling him to stop trying to call me, I didn't have service.

Also in July he asked if he could come visit. WHAT?!?!! First, I was in field training. Even if we were dating I wouldn't want to be distracted. Most importantly, we weren't dating! Why would I want to see him except to punch him in the mouth as soon as he tried to get all touchy-feely?

In September, when I got done with training, the calls started again. I didn't answer. He sent an email begging for an update, a message that he would treasure forever. Telling me that if I gave him another chance he'd be better. I told him to leave me alone, I am seeing other people and I've moved on with my life.

Last month I made the mistake of answering the phone when he called. Just the sound of his voice made me angry. He wanted to rehash our entire, rotten relationship. He wanted to know about the guy I'm dating (I didn't tell him I'm "going on dates," not "dating."). I told him it's none of his business. He made some comment about how he wondered if he should have told me not to go to FLETC. I started to laugh at the thought of how pissed off I'd have been if some guy who I'd known for all of 6 months had tried to tell me to give up my livelihood, the thing that puts food on my table, the job I've tried very hard to get and to do well... Sure, at the time I loved him and I did think he might be the man for me, but I wasn't about to toss everything I have out the window for him. I'm not a gambling woman, I have to be sure about someone first. I'd known him for 6 months, but I'd spent less than one month total in the same country with the man! (And that was more than enough to find out he wasn't the man for me!)

When I started to laugh he started to cry and he told me how much he loves me. I hung up.

It used to be when he cried I'd feel bad. I'd forgive him. I'd think of how awful I would feel in his place. I'd apologize for yelling at him, for getting mad at him, for being mean, for wanting to kick him out of my house and never see him again.

Well I'm tired about thinking of his feelings. Instead I'm going to focus on mine. I don't want to talk to him so when he calls, I'm not going to answer. Or, like this last Saturday (he threw me off, not calling on Sunday) when I pick up the phone at the same time I see his number, I'm going to hang up. And I'm going to stop feeling bad about it. Our relationship was the most messed up relationship I've ever been in. Thank Heavens it is OVER. I just wish he would realize it! I have the feeling that if he did live in the same country as I do he would be camped out on my lawn. And then I would have to kick his ass. And then I would loose my job and be very sad.

I don't know why he doesn't move on.

It's funny, but I used to think that women who had stalkers had somehow overlooked the large, obvious warning signs. The clues that the man had the capacity to be a stalker. Did I overlook something? Did I bring this on myself somehow? Have I not been clear enough? How have I not managed to squash all of his hope? I have told him it's over, we'll never get back together, I've moved on with my life, etc. Why does he still pester me? What can I do in the future to safeguard myself from men who seem normal, but then turn out to be unable to let go? I will never again wonder what the woman with the stalker did wrong. I didn't know men could be like this. I wish I'd have known what to look out for, but maybe there wasn't anything.

The final episode

Of my Manhattan adventure with the White Ranger (a very nice host, by the way). We'd gotten off the Harbor Cruise and walked to the hotel so I could pick up another layer. I was frozen and I'd left my backpack in Craig's room at a very fancy hotel. It was the Radisson on Lex (or Lexington Ave for the non-New Yorkers).

I wanted to see the Manhattan temple, which was a ways from the hotel. We decided to try for a cab... not as easy as it would seem. The city streets are teeming with cabs, but they all had people in them already. So we thought, no worries, we'll get on the subway. It seems to me that every time I try to figure out the subway in NYC, I get confused. Just looking at the map makes my head spin. We asked the people who work there how to get to Lincoln Center (which is near the temple). The route they explained to us consisted of at least one shuttle and two transfers on the subway. Waaaaay to complex, so we attempted the cab hailing again.

I was surprised when Craig grabbed bike cart guy instead of a cab. But I think the ride with him was the one of the neatest things we did. There we were in this itty bitty cart being pulled by this skinny, perspiring man. He wove in and out of traffic like a professional (or someone who wanted to kill us. I'm not sure which). It was definitely a keep-all-body-parts-inside-the-vehicle-ride. I still don't know how he got that big cart to turn so sharply and to fit alongside buses and between cabs that didn't look like they were going to stop. We made much better time in the cart, passing all the cars who were stuck in traffic. And it was really fun to zip along the crowded streets (and up on the sidewalk at one point) in a bobbing, weaving little cart.

He dropped us off near Lincoln Center and we looked around for the temple. I had no idea what this one looked like, I just knew that it's different from most other temples because it's built in such a small space. But the angel Moroni sticking out from the city lights and tall buildings gave it away. Unfortunately, my camera doesn't take such good pictures at night, but here it is:

It was a short walk from Lincoln center to Central Park. We walked through the park, which isn't well lit and doesn't have the police presence of the rest of the city. After a few minutes we came to a more populated section. We watched the ice skaters and wondered how they would all fit on the ice (there was a huge pack of people waiting to get in).
We also saw some Central Park wildlife. We came upon several people all with their cameras out as if they were on safari. So of course, I joined them and photographed the raccoon to.
Here is one of the many displays in the window of one of the big department stores. Craig posed the astute question, "So does this give us any idea what they sell inside?"
"Why, no, none at all."
"Does it make you want to go in and buy their stuff?"
"No, I can't say that it does." Although this display did make me think of my upcoming trip to Nepal. I'll be going into the jungle via elephant back. I don't think it will be quite so elaborate and my pachyderm will be alive, smelly, and bejewelled with hair and flies instead.

Rockefeller Plaza was our next stop. It was packed, but I wanted to see the big ole tree with all the lights. So there it is, a big Christmas tree.


And here we are, exhausted after a long day of traipsing around Manhattan. I'm so glad I got to go and hang out with Craig. It was a real treat and I had a great time. I don't get to see, let alone spend time with, my buddies from high school. It was really nice to have Craig all to myself for the day.

Part 3- The Harbor Cruise

What a sight, eh? Enough to bring a tear to the eye of even the toughest American.
The Harbor Cruise was really fun, although we did start to turn into popsicles with the wind cutting through us on the open deck. We had to go inside to thaw.


The Brooklyn Bridge.
Wow, another neat picture. You can see Lady Liberty under the Brooklyn Bridge, but she's really small.