Not Like The Olden Days

The future has arrived. (Illustration based on the work of Clifford Jago).

 

So when was the last time you used an elevator driven around by a human? By a human whose job it was to operate the thing. Never, maybe? Never? Do you even have trouble with the concept? I don't.

I remember when. Really.

I has been decades since the last time, and that was when I was in high school, which was a while back, but I do remember, and though that system was hardly ever used even then, it wasn't completely unusual when I was still young to walk into an elevator car and tell the operator which floor you wanted to end up on.

Yes, things have changed, and it's not letting up. (By the way, I was around 10 by the time we got dials on our telephones and could make our own calls without the help of the other kind of operator. I also remember life before television, which was indeed better in some ways.)

I started thinking about this sort of thing last night after seeing the beginnings of a discussion among van dwellers about what self-driving vehicles would be like. Some people thought they'd be nifty, some were afraid, and some doubted that there would ever be such a development. I disagree, with all of them.

We won't know what the future is like until we get there, and when we do get there we won't realize that that's where we were headed. Things will happen but until they do, no one really knows in detail what we'll end up with or how things will have changed.

What we do know is that things will change, and it's like elevators all over again.

First there was muscle power, then combustion engines, then electric motors, and then they eliminated the drivers. So think — when was the last time you took your own elevator to a multi-storey building? When was the last time you even owned an elevator?

Have you even heard of such a thing as owning an elevator? No. You go somewhere, get inside something, push a button, and go back to daydreaming. Then you arrive at your destination and that's it. It's even free.

How about cars then? Are electric cars far off in the future because there's no way to get electricity out where you're going? Nope. Electricity is available in more places than gasoline, let alone diesel, right now. Electricity is everywhere. High-voltage, high-amperage connections need to be installed in thousands of locations for electric vehicles to be practical, but there's no trick to that. It's only a matter of doing it powered by a feedback loop of demand and supply. It will happen.

Electric vehicles are simpler and cheaper to:

• Design
• Manufacture
• Operate
• Maintain
• Repair

That part is inevitable. So is the rest.

Electric vehicles will make self-driving vehicles possible, and machine intelligence will make them happen. We'll live in a different world by then.

Two tidal waves will sneak up and sweep us away. The electric vehicle wave will be the first.

Electric vehicles are already flowing into our lives but we hardly notice because they are still expensive, and imperfect, and rare. Look up in a few years and they'll be everywhere. See the 5th Avenue link below for a view of history. No one will be able to imagine how or why anyone put up with combustion-engine vehicles, composed of hundreds of moving parts, having a constant need to be serviced, requiring toxic and explosive fuels, and emitting even more toxins as exhaust. Just as no one now can imagine how or why people once put up with whole cities full of horse manure and flies.

Combustion-engine vehicles will first become impossible to sell, and then impossible to buy, for good reason. Electric vehicles will do everything better, cheaper, and more simply.

When machine learning becomes adequate, and after machines prove they can do the job, which they will, they will steadily take over the work of driving. Because electric vehicles are already computers on wheels, the navigation and control systems will virtually drop right in. Before long, human-driven vehicles will become impossible to sell, then impossible to buy, and then illegal because it will be recognized that it is far too dangerous to let humans remain in charge. And besides, insurance won't be available. And no one will want the expense of actually owning a vehicle. And it will be too much bother, like taking your own elevator along when you go downtown and want to get to the 37th floor. What?

This makes me wonder what all those van dwellers out there will do. Can't afford/don't want to live in an apartment, won't be able to just drive around the country and park in the woods here and there any more. Then what?

And backpackers, not to mention other rural people — what about them? It'll be hard (probably) to summon a car to drive you around when you're 50 miles out, somewhere, but mostly nowhere, and you have to get elsewhere.

It's certain that:

• Things will be radically different than they are now, and
• Things will work, even though they'll work differently than now

It's likely that:

• A lot of things will be easier than they are now
• Most things will be pre-programmed
• Life will be less spontaneous
• Epiphanies will go extinct

When everything becomes possible, everything becomes ordinary, and that "illuminating realization or discovery, often resulting in a personal feeling of elation, awe, or wonder" will be reduced to a blinking light reminding you to either put another coin in the slot or get the hell out of the car.

Nowadays, right now, it looks like we're seeing some other things fade away. Because population continues to grow, and we are all getting relatively richer in capabilities if not in actual coinage, there are more people "getting out there" and doing things. If it's not hard to get "there", and is no longer awkward and dangerous once you are there, then "there" becomes ordinary. The backcountry becomes another city park.

Need to go somewhere? Query the internet, download an app, read some blog posts, see what your Facebook "friends" think. Need stuff? Click on those handy affiliate links, peruse eBay, order shiny things from Amazon. Get news of somebody doing something? Add it to your "bucket list" and do a "me too", or formulate a plan to be faster, louder, more outrageous, and gain more followers by going crazy on YouTube. Start your own channel. Shoot for a world record — maybe the most selfies in the most dangerous places done in the least amount of time, or something.

Not like the olden days.

No, not like the olden days.

I was in my 30s before I made my first backpacking trip. You couldn't find a tent under six pounds (2.7 kg, whatever "kg" were supposed to be). My first pack weighed four pounds, 14 ounces (2.2 kg) all by itself. Boots were big and heavy and leather. Waterproof/breathable promised salvation and was still so new that it wasn't yet considered a joke. The Svea 123R, whose roots go back over a century, was the height of liquid-fueled stove technology. Frostline Kits were still being sewn in the thousands.

Not all that many people did, but if you wanted something, needed something, and it wasn't out there, you made it. You could. You figured "Why the hell not?"

Along around 2000, some ideas began circulating and some new technologies became available. Silicone-coated nylon was one of them. It promoted huge changes. People went nuts, and internetted everything. Sudden experts appeared everywhere. You know the saying, "When the seeker is ready the guru appears." Like that. Everybody had ideas for what you could do with simple, ordinary materials, some ingenuity, and time. It seemed like you could make anything you needed, if you could imagine it, like stoves from used pop cans.

Odd little web sites popped up everywhere. Every week or so plans for some previously impossible thing, mostly things you had never even thought about at all, got published, and then right after that, someone else published their own directions for making an improved version that cost nothing and weighed less.

Gone now, most of it. Lots of ideas have been incorporated into commercial products, most of which are OK, some of which are OK+, and some of which are not anything but still cost money. The watch-phrase is "Buy it and try it", and never be happy any more, because if you set a world record for Fastest Known Time run-walking the Pacific Crest Trail, then someone else will do better next week and you'll be just another random, washed-up loser again. And if you buy the lightest, most experimental, trickiest whatchamacallit today, then tomorrow, if it hasn't fallen apart already, it will be replaced with the Super Double Plus Good Most Trickiest Thing-A-Ma-Bob Ever, and not only will you be a loser once again but you'll be out all that money and people will keep laughing because you're so lame and carry 0.75 grams more than they do.

So maybe when things were harder and slower and backpacking was something you did because it was interesting and not a competitive sport, maybe in a way it was sort of better as well, no?

 

Some web sites of the Ancients

Ray Garlington

Risk's UltraLight Hiking

Just Jeff's Hiking Page

Penny Wood Stove

Zen Stoves

Frostline Kits

Thru-Hiker Projects

Thru-Hiker Articles

Sgt. Rock's Hiking HQ

Gearskin

Homemade Outdoor Gear

Wings: The home-made stove archives

Rainmaker and Brawny

 

Other relevant stuff

The future of photography is code

5th Avenue, 1900 Vs. 1913

Epiphany

Svea 123

Ride transit to the trails with Trailhead Direct

 

---

Comments? Send email to sosayseff@nullabigmail.com

See if that helps.

Definitions: Data Book

Facts.

A data book is a collection of largely useless facts and numbers, fascinating to those stomping around in the middle of nowhere, or, for the less adventurous, one of the places right next to nowhere.

Those who happen to be doing that very thing because they want to. And are curious to have facts with them. On their way from one arbitrary line on a map to some other arbitrary whatever. For some reason. Or other.

Well, OK.

To them, these stompers, these gritty shufflers, these backpackers, these thru-hikers, to them all facts are useful. Even facts detailing the locations and peculiarities of resupply stops and where said stops used to be. Unless they are no longer, any more, because the place silently dried up and the wind caught it by one corner and and blew it off the map on a dry, overcast, empty dead Thursday.

Even facts, getting back to facts, that state mileage between any two random, boring points on the trail ... are important ... to backpackers ... who have ... nothing ... else to, uh ... think about.

How cool is that then? How? Think.

Even facts. More facts. About how. Steep. The trail gets. And where exactly that happens. That happens. Steep. And where shelters and camp sites are. Road crossings. Water sources. Various facilities. Various. And major features. Features. Major ones.

Major features, whatever major features are, like those stores that sell only gasoline, whiskey, and moth balls? And ammo? Some of them? But apparently remain relevant to long distance hikers who need something to think about, to keep them from going nuts and gnawing off a leg. Even more nuts. Which would make it tough to keep walking. Though more interesting, in a way, due to the challenge though.

Which is another fact, if you will. Which is why data books were invented, to carry around facts. And are still popular among the challenged. Thru-hikers. Challenged in many ways, they.

Like the data book for the Appalachian Trail, a data book published for over 25 years now, and one or more for the Pacific Crest Trail, and so on and so on, for trails all over. The place. Of which there are oh, so many. So many. Trails and places that need facts to be put into books and carried. Another fact.

Go figure, etc.

Bagses For The Fishes

My New Plastic Pals.

A little item, but fun.

Living in western Washington state as I do, I never go anywhere without preparing for rain. For years I've been using three kinds of plastic bags to protect my things:

• Trash bags
• Cleanup bags
• Compactor bags

Trash Bags

One is the ordinary large trash bag or leaf bag. These have a capacity of around 32 gallons (121 L), and are made of extremely lightweight plastic (I'm guessing that it's about 0.7 mil or 0.02 mm). That's good and bad.

Good: These are big bags, big enough to cover a lot of gear inside a pack, but weigh only about an ounce (28.4 g).

Bad: They're extremely easy to tear, either by stretching if grabbed the wrong way, or by snagging on the smallest, most innocent-looking thorn or bramble.

If the weather is likely to be gentle I may use these inside the pack, and take an extra one as a pack cover.

Cleanup Bags

Cleanup bags or contractor cleanup bags are seriously hefty. They're about the same size as the ordinary trash bag, but each one weighs four ounces (113 g). Add a few of these to your load and, although you probably can't actually feel the weight difference, you'll feel guilty anyway.

Good: These bags are extremely tough and durable. And large. So if you don't need the bag's full volume, you can cut it down to size.

Bad: Heavy and stiff. They're heavy enough to make you wish there was an in-between weight. But there isn't. Not for this size of bag — it's either the too-light trash bag or one of these, which feels more like a wooden box than a plastic bag.

Compactor bags

Trash compactor bags are smaller than the previous two types, with intermediate strength and weight. They weigh two ounces each. In slightly less amiable weather, I may use one to hold my sleeping bag, but they're too short. Usually I take two, one with its open end up, holding the sleeping bag, and a second compactor bag as a lid, going over both the other bag and my sleeping bag, with its open end down.

This way, I get lots of protection and since nothing is tied shut, it's easy to squeeze the air out of the sleeping bag and both protective bags as I close up my backpack. And if anything goes wrong and one compactor bag goes out of commission, I have a backup plastic bag to put my sleeping bag in.

I normally use this type bag for my food. I bag my food as individual meals, collect and bag separate meals as a bunch, and keep the whole shebang in a compactor bag. The more layers the better, because my goal is to be aromatically undetectable, food-wise. The bags' white color also helps me to keep track of it while it's hanging overnight, and in re-locating it the next morning.

Also, using compactor bags gives me a target.

When I stop at the end of the day, I lay out a compactor bag flat, and then put my loose things on it. No matter how dark things get, I can always see where that bag is, and know that the last little thing I laid down is right there, on top of it. Although morning light is stronger, I use the same technique — the white square is a flag I can't miss.

Meh.

But there is a problem: all these bags are opaque. The first two kinds are black or brown-black, and the compactor bags are white. White is an anti-stealth flag, but has its uses, as just noted. Black, gray, or any other dark color is more stealthy but hides the bag's contents just as well as the white bags.

Which is where fish bags come in.

Hmmm.

At the moment I'm living next to salt water. People fish in it. Less than two blocks from my place is an old-fashioned general store which leans toward the hardware end of things. You never know what they have until you wander through the entire store and look at everything one more time. It's amazing. And they have fishing equipment.

One item I walked by about two dozen times without looking was a box full of polyethylene bags. Clear polyethylene bags. Big ones. Huh. Ninety-seven cents each. I didn't know what I'd found until I tugged at the corner of one. Wo. Large, tough, heavy, and transparent. That's what I've got now. I bought five.

I don't know how common this sort of thing is. I found only one reference to it, which says 'These are heavy duty bags that are great for keeping your catch it [sic] until you can get it back home. They are 22"x39" 4 mil poly ice bags.'

That sounds about right. I thinks that's exactly what I've got.

Now I'll try them out on the trail, hanging my food in one, and, well, we'll see. Maybe one for food and one for bedding this time. They're perfectly transparent so there will be no doubt about what's inside, and the way they're built, each bag should be good for several trips — maybe the whole season.

More:

Heavy Duty Fish Ice Bags

Soyl de Hoy

So long pepper pot.

Menú
Sopa de frejól
Filete de pescado
Frutas con yogurt
Jugo de melón

That was lunch today. Two-fifty, even, at El Túnel, a little place around the corner. Open weekdays, twelve to three. I can pull on a pair of pants, be seated in less than five, and someone else does the dishes. Sweet.

Joe runs the joint. Eat there if you're ever here. Here is Cuenca, Ecuador.

I can't say when my next backpacking trip might be, but food on the trail is always a problem. You know that. I know that.

Decisions — you make them and live with them, like it or not. Often not.

First it's whether or not to eat. That's a quick one. Then whether or not to cook. Generally no debate there either. Food wins, and hot food wins.

So, either you throw cash at a case of foil pouches or roll your own, and still suffer inedibility.

So then what? Think.

Maybe you can eat without eating, and do it cheap. And not cook, and not mind. Maybe Soylent.

Maybe $3 a day. Maybe half that for a 3000-calorie day, when Soylent is available. Almost. It almost is.

Maybe this is nuts. Maybe not.

I do not enjoy grocery shopping, cooking, or cleaning dishes and I shouldn't have to. I do not like to repeat myself and I do not like having things that I do not need. No one asks me to make my own clothes. Why should I be expected to make my own food?

...

I hypothesized that the body doesn't need food itself, merely the chemicals and elements it contains. So, I resolved to embark on an experiment. What if I consumed only the raw ingredients the body uses for energy? Would I be healthier or do we need all the other stuff that's in traditional food? If it does work, what would it feel like to have a perfectly balanced diet? I just want to be in good health and spend as little time and money on food as possible. -- Rob Rhinehart, inventor of Soylent

Rhinehart has been at this for a year, mixing, eating, refining, repeating. He has $2 million in early orders and over $1.5 million in funding to support a business.

What's it really like? I don't know. You'll have to try it.

Early on, Rhinehart tasted a batch:

The first morning my kitchen looked more like a chemistry lab than a cookery, but I eventually ended up with an thick, odorless, beige liquid. I call it 'Soylent'. At the time I didn't know if it was going to kill me or give me superpowers. I held my nose and tepidly lifted it to my mouth, expecting an awful taste.

It was delicious! I felt like I'd just had the best breakfast of my life. It tasted like a sweet, succulent, hearty meal in a glass, which is what it is, I suppose. I immediately felt full, yet energized, and started my day.

Maybe it will start one of your own days before long. Out on a trail. Maybe? What?

Until then, I'll be holding down a chair at El Túnel most days.

More:

Rhinehart: How I Stopped Eating Food

Rhinehart: The Whole Food Fallacy

Rhinehart: Two Months of Soylent

Vice: Soylent Passed $2 Million in Orders, Will Ship Next Month

Vice: The Post-Food Man: Drink Soylent, and You May Never Have to Eat Again

Soylent blog: Soylent 1.0 Final Nutrition

Soylent home: Soylent — Free Your Body

Mugged

Because I got lucky.

About to leave Cuenca after six months, I went looking for a doll.

They have Barbie dolls here, and Kohler dolls. Kohler dolls seem to be exactly like Barbie dolls, but they have a different name on the box.

Both varieties have all the grace and charm of bayonets, and they're plastic too.

The guy who works 16 hours a day, six days a week at my hotel has a wife, and a little girl. When I leave I don't want to just tip him. I think I'll tip his daughter too.

At Christmas I bought four candy bars. Chocolate Negro, 63% cacao, made by Fábrica de Chocolates Bios Cía. Ltda. in Quito. Two were intended as gifts, one for "Señor Jefe", whose name I've never learned, and one for Danny, who puts in double shifts six days a week.

The other two were for me. I hadn't had chocolate in around a year, and since the good stuff is available here, hey.

On my way out for a walk on Christmas Day, I gave a bar (100 g, solid dark chocolate, price $2.27) to Danny and showed him mine, to be sure he knew that if the stuff was good enough for him, it was good enough for me.

When I got back, there was a woman here, and a tiny little girl. Hmmm.

I asked as well as my rudimentary Spanish allowed, if that was his family. Danny said yes.

Then I pulled out my fourth and last bar, told him it was my last, and said it was for his little girl. He ran out to the lobby area and gave it to her. And I do mean "ran". With a big smile on his face. The chocolate bar was half as big as she was.

You know how little kids are. She sort of held it and rocked, and leaned back against the wall, not knowing what to do next.

But I bet she caught on.

I went back to my room.

Time passes, and I'm about to leave Ecuador.

What to do now?

I thought Danny and his wife would appreciate a gift for the little one, so I went looking for dolls.

Barbie is like a cold-hearted, scarred hooker with a heart full of nails. Ditto for Kohler.

And they're all pasty white with synthetic blond hair, and rigid with the rigor mortis of the toy industry. Their skin color is nowhere near the girl's. Would this be the right gift?

Nope.

I finally decided to get a teddy bear. Still synthetic, but squeezably soft. Probably a better choice for a three-year-old.

But.

On my way up to the toy department I made a detour through the household goods. This was at the Coral Hipermercado in Mall del Rio, on Cuenca's south side.

It's a big place, full of everything you hate about giant chain stores, but with decent prices and, since this is Ecuador, also full of things you can't find in North Dakota.

Like my new cup.

I can't find a scale to weigh it, but it feels like it's around three ounces (85 g), maybe four (113 g), or in between (85 - 113 g).

It's choice, made by Imusa in Colombia out of aluminum, my favorite hiker-pot material. It is bigger than I'd like, at one liter, but it is big enough for sure. I never need anything larger, and have been getting by for years with a 16-fluid-ounce measuring cup (0.47 L) that I lucked onto once upon a time.

Unfortunately, the measuring cups are either unavailable now, or sold by some other company that remains secret. The one I bought mine from switched over from hardware to recipe books, and dropped all their kitchen products. At 1.8 ounces (51 g), I could put up with the cup's slightly sparse capacity.

In fact, for cooking it is pretty good, since all I do is heat water.

I heat 12 to 16 ounces (0.35 to 0.47 L) of water, pour that into a food bag, and wait. While waiting, I refill the cup and make tea. When the alcohol stove goes out I leave the cup sitting there, enclosed by the wind screen.

Usually my meal is about cool enough to eat by this time, so I do that, and when done, I'm ready for tea and it's ready for me. My full-coverage wind screen protects the brewed tea from breezes, and allows the tea to cool, but slowly. It's almost always just barely cool enough to drink when I reach for it.

So, I guess that works well.

Where I could use a bit more capacity is related to the other uses my cup has. Like dipping water from a stream, to fill a water bottle. But mostly in bathing.

Sixteen ounces, poured repeatedly, works. One liter (33.8 fl oz) is more, and works better. And it works better too if, every once in a while I want to wash a hankie or a pair of socks. In my cooking pot. A liter-sized pot holds more socks.

Sure, yes, I do clean out the pot after, by rinsing. And the last couple of years I've taken to finishing up by dumping a bit of alcohol into the pot and lighting it, which heats the pot, sterilizes it, and dries it. Otherwise the things I put into the pot (like matches) get damp, but not if the pot is gotten hot and allowed to air cool first.

This wastes a little stove fuel but not much, and makes things a whole lot more predictable and less messy. Get the whole cooking set dry, pack it away inside a plastic bag, and that's it. No more fussing with damp matches.

So this new pot is made of much thicker aluminum. I won't be using the pot often, but when I do it will be easy enough to carry extra stove fuel.

And it may have been a dumb purchase, but how often am I going to be getting back to Ecuador?

I had planned to stay here permanently, but am thinking that no longer, and doubt I'll be back. And when I saw the price, that about did it.

The cup was marked at $2.32, but my receipt says $2.07. Pricing is one thing I've never figured out here. Still a good deal, either way.

I understand that some Walmart stores, the ones catering to Hispanic clientele, may carry products from Imusa. And someone is reselling these at Amazon.com, but the price is higher - $16.67 - which would get me eight of these mugs if bought here. (And no shipping charges either, though the round-trip airfare does inflate the price a tad bit.)

Funny thing though.

In researching this Imusa mug I bought, I found that someone else is selling the next generation of grease pots on Amazon.com. You can get a "Stanco Non-Stick Grease Strainer" for $8.77. This looks like the one that KMart was selling, at least for a while.

Unlike the Walmart grease pot, the body of this one has its rim rolled to the outside, not the inside, making it like a real cooking pot, and much easier to clean than the old Walmart greass pots were. Maybe it's worth checking out.

More:

Coral Hipermercados

Imusa USA home

Imusa USA products

Imusa Aluminum Mug, 1.25-Quart, 12 CM, at Amazon.com

IMUSA Aluminum Mug, at Walmart, or not, depending on the store - also note that this is a smaller one, 0.6 L (0.7 qt)

Stanco Non-Stick Grease Strainer, at Amazon.com

Go Easy On The Land

Proper wilderness storage.

I miss bears the most.

They were the first to go into storage.

After that, the other big animals. Elk, deer, the few mountain goats we have here. The occasional bighorn sheep. That kind of thing.

Coyotes.

Coyotes are hard. Too wily for their own good sometimes, but we had to get them, and we did.

The wolves - few and scattered. Hardly here at all, but they were here, so we were obliged to nab every one.

After the large animals were taken care of, we went small.

Beavers, marmots, muskrats, otters, ground squirrels, voles, shrews, snakes, lizards, frogs, and then.

To even smaller scales. The buzzies.

That's what I call them. Buzzies.

The kind of stuff most people want to get shut of, but they're part of nature. They belong here as much as anything. So we had to store them too.

Deer flies, horse flies, mosquitoes - all that. Rounded them up, stuffed them into boxes (yes, carefully), and shipped them to cold storage.

In a few years when the budget thing improves, and if we've done our job right, we'll truck everything back out here, and it should all be good as new. Slowly warm every species back to ambient temperature, add a bit of water, and release.

That's about it.

Personally speaking - and this is just my own opinion - it's the ticks that I'd skip over. Mosquitoes I can take. Even horseflies.

Ticks, no. They've always given me the creeps. You ask me, I'd finish them off now.

But on the other hand, I am a professional. I do have standards, and do what I'm paid to do, and that is S.O.S. Save our species. All of them. Which is why I'm here.

So I guess the ticks will be tucked away safely like the rest.

At least my work is almost done. I don't envy the botanists.

Do you have any idea what a tree weighs? My god.

In the rain forests you see trees over 250 feet tall. That's 76 meters, and tons and tons and tons of tree, repeated endlessly along the coast.

Here, where it's drier, sure the trees are smaller, but even small trees are large, you know? And heavy. Each and every one of them has to be collected, wrapped, laid into its own special box, and shipped.

Now that's a job. One worse than mine.

But after the trees and shrubs and grasses and mossy patches and lichens are all collected, then the trail rollers move in.

That work is so awesomely nasty that only volunteers will do it. Otherwise we'd lose hundreds of miles of trails.

But the people who hike here want to preserve their trails, and they helped to build lots of them. So they will do the work.

Every inch of trail has to be rolled up while preserving each minute detail. Every curve and bump. Every jig and jag. Every jottle and jump.

It's endless.

Dusty, sweaty work, but it has to be done.

And when the trails have been pulled up, we shut off the water, lower the sky, and deflate the mountains.

Mountains aren't as bad as you'd think, once the air is out of them. It's pretty easy to haul them off. Well, not easy, but, you know. It's relative.

So, while you may think that federal budget cutting is only theater played out in stuffy rooms, it does have effects in places you might not expect, like deep in the wilderness of the Pacific Northwest.

All eleven million acres of wilderness - mountains, forests, everything that lives there - all of it has to be stuffed into boxes and stored away for the sake of future generations.

I may not live to see it back in place again, but your children might. Or your grandchildren.

So I guess that's why I do what I do.

Call me crazy, or just call me Dr. Art Bark, Wildlife Salvage Specialist.

More:

Trails Of Trouble On Wild Lands

Red Rockin' With Jim.

The Fartruk fires back.

I'm Jim Fartruk, State Senator-To-Be from Utah, and I approved this message.

Folks, you all know the saying "Land - Buy now. God isn't making any more of it."

But what does this mean for the future of our National Parks?

Well, Erosion is our enemy. If you built your house below a cliff like my father did, then you know what can happen.

Erosion is relentless, constantly eating at our most precious natural resource, Land.

Whether it's floods, tornadoes -- whatever -- erosion is always carrying away the one thing we can never replace. The Land Beneath Our Feet.

And with National Park Service budgets declining and us facing this fiscal cliff thing, we could see another $5 million vanish. The sole agency responsible for maintaining the few National Parks that we still have is in Dire Straits.

This of course reveals the basic flaw in the whole idea of government. You can't run it without money, and you can't run it with money. It's a lose-lose-lose situation for both parties.

Five of these Critical Park Areas are in Utah, my home state. Canyonlands National Park and nearby Arches National Park would both be exceptionally hard hit. As for the others, well, just go ahead and guess.

With that in mind, and relying on guidance which I have Personally Received From Above, I am now proposing that each and every Citizen and Resident of these United States of America, both Permanent and Temporary, Legal and Illegal, join together to Preserve and Enhance our Public Lands.

Think about becoming America's Best Friend. You can do it, and it's easy, and we don't need no stinkin' government to make it work.

Every time you leave home take an empty plastic bottle, a paper bag, whatever. Here and there, wherever you go, whenever you think of it, grab some dirt and drop it in. Then take that dirt home and put it in a safe place.

After a while it adds up.

A friend of mine did this very thing every year when he went on vacation. His whole family pitched in, and now he has a good start on his own mountain range. He's a hunter too, so think of the possibilities.

And think of what we can do, all working together. As a Nation. Without bureaucrats.

Friends, it boggles my mind, and probably yours too.

Well, a few of us have started already, and all you need to do is roll up your sleeves. We've set up a project on Kickstarter, a project we call Hands for Lands. Unlike most projects, we're not looking to raise funds.

We only want your dirt.

And rocks, and possibly a few twigs and dead insects, but not too many. You know what I mean.

Taxes on land, and on mineral development (coal mines, oil wells, etc.) provides cold hard cash that jumps right into government coffers, but that doesn't help the land. No, not one bit.

You know where those Tax Dollars go. Into the same old black hole.

So if government doesn't help, what does? Environmentally Minded People. People who reach out and grab a piece of Mother Earth.

People who pick up a little dirt here and there.

People like you and me. People in Moab, at the southern tip of Arches National Park, and, well, people all across this Great Nation of ours, some of whom even live in places like Chicago, though I don't know how they manage.

Friends, I believe we have a Last Great Opportunity not only to protect millions of acres of Roadless Lands but to create millions of acres More, all free of Big Government Control.

Simply become a Grab and Send volunteer and these United States of America will thank you.

As will I.

So bend over for America and then show us what you got.

Send dirt, support the NRA, and watch for those Black United Nations Helicopters. They could be here any day.

More:

A Move to Protect Red-Rock Country in Utah