Britt, Iowa National Hobo Convention (Part 2)

Posted on November 16, 2011 by Denny

Once the Royalty is chosen for the new year the offical business is concluded. By now, the jungle is a blend of hoboes, locals, and tourists all mingling together while the feast is being prepared for the evening. This was to be a unique experience for most of us there observing as a young hobo couple had decided to get married, and decided that it would be a traditional hobo wedding, which meant all the public in attendance were invited.

A Hobo Wedding

The young couple I’d guess to be in their mid to late 20′s got dressed. He in a nice yellow shirt with what appeared to be new bib overalls topped off with a little beret and a red bandana around his neck. The bride was dressed in a traditional white bridal gown with a crown of flowers in her hair….all highlighted by the large tattoo on her back.

There were a half dozen older people dealing with the adminstration part of it, a couple of guys more or less dressed up, and a couple of women also dressed. One of the gentlemen explained to the rest of us, what was happening and what the significance of it was.

With the groom waiting at the front in anticipation, the bride enters under a tunnel of walking sticks held high by the other hoboes much like the military passes under swords. The bride carries a bouquet of wildflowers. The guy up front explains that wildflowers are traditional because most hoboes don’t have a lot of money. She hands off the flowers to her bridesmaid and she and the groom are handed a complete rhubarb stalk, complete with leaf. As they’re walking toward the campfire a guy is explaining that the rhubarb leaves represents their old life and as such, they will tear up the leaves and throw them on the fire, as a symbol that they are ridding themselves of their old lives in preparation for their new one. As they’re finishing up their symbolism, he’s explaining to anyone willing to fix it, that the rhubarb, with a few blackberries, makes a wonderful pie. I didn’t notice anyone willing to take him up on his challenge.

The wedding proceeds, much like any wedding going through the “I do’s” and then the newlyweds, start the reception by doing a version of the “hobo shuffle” around the campfire. Following a couple of laps, the rest of the hoboes join in, and then anyone in the park is dragged in, locals, tourists….anyone in reach. The wedding reception goes on for an hour or so when it’s wound down in time for the feast to begin. It’s a full spread, revolving around that pig mentioned in Part 1, with more different fix’ins than most of us can imagine. You go down the line with the servers filling your plate with everything on hand. With your plate(s) you go to the long tables under the pavillion or some go to the bleachers that are set up or just a picnic on the grass. I’m too old to be getting down on the grass, so I elected the tables.

After the feast, while things are being cleaned up, people are just mingling and swapping stories and others like me, were just enjoying them. Once everything is cleared, the evenings entertainment begins. I’ve come to the conclusion that every hobo, plays at least one instrument, usually more than one. Some do their musical performances solo, many play together as a group, sometimes switching instruments if they get to many of one, one of the people will switch to a different instrument that isn’t represented. While there’s much dancing going on around the fire, many are just watching and enjoying the music and poetry. This goes on late into the night. Officially, they have to kill the mic’s at 10pm, but they turn them off and just continue.

This is a good place to relate a couple of observations. First. In most towns, people would shield their little children by keeping a tight hold on them in this motley crowd. The local children weren’t glued to their parents hips but were pretty much on their own with hoboes teaching them different crafts or just watching them doing what they do. There was no air of fear around the place.  Second, just before the feast, one of the guys got on the microphone and asked if anyone had lost a digital camera or expensive watch, as each had been found and turned in by hoboes in an effort to get them back to their owners. Third, I watched a local cop pull up and get out of his car. He walked into the jungle and spent about a half hour watching the entertainment. When it looked like he was getting ready to leave I went over and asked if they have any problems from the hoboes. He said, “no…they’re never a problem”, he just stopped by to enjoy the show.

That’s not to say that it’s all perfect. The hoboes, don’t allow alcohol, drugs or dogs in the jungle. The Head Pipe told me, they have nothing against dogs, in fact many own one, but people don’t clean up after them, and afterall, many of them sleep on the ground. The ban on alcohol in the jungle means those that want it, have to walk into town which some do.

I was talking with one of the hoboes who had come in from Florida. He’s a Seminole indian. He casually said….”I’ve only been in town 4 days and I’ve spent 3 nights in jail.” I asked him what he was in jail for, he said it was drunk in public. He said they just put them in a cell and don’t even lock the door. As soon as they can blow sober on the breathalyzer, they’re released without any charges. He said it’s usually the next morning before they wake up and can blow sober enough to be released.

While I was there I saw several television networks there with their cameras interviewing various hoboes. PBS, Discovery and another I can’t recall were all there. Most of us don’t think of hoboes as female, but there is a pretty large percentage that are females and that seemed to be of the most interest to the television people.

The town of Britt has created a home for the hoboes. It’s a relationship that the town and the hoboes both seem to enjoy. Many hoboes are buried in the local cemetery, there’s a Hobo Museum with all kinds of history and artifacts of hobo life. Most hoboes, have numerous talents they use to earn money or will trade for food and some of those are displayed in the museum. They can make useful everyday items from things we toss out. One of their more unique skills was what are called “hobo nickels”, which you can learn more about from this link. Many of the original ones, done by actual hoboes are quite valuable and have become collectors items. http://www.hobonickels.org/showcase.htm Since the real world discovered hobo nickels there’s been a rush of carvers putting them out. While all are a wonder, most of the carvers today only copy what they’ve seen in the past and do it with modern tools. The original hobo nickels were usually carved with a nail or other crude, sharp instrument, usually homemade. Some carve nickels, others walking sticks.

Speaking of walking sticks. The tradional image of a hobo we have is a guy with his toes sticking out from the flopping soles of his shoes with his bindle slung over his shoulder. The bindle is the cloth that the hobo wraps all his worldly possessions in and then ties it to a pole, his walking stick and props it over his shoulder for his travels. Hoboes take pride in their walking sticks. Many are carved or inlayed with various things. At the convention, a guy was selling the sticks with an inlayed copper plaque with the date of the Convention people could take home for a souvenier. With hoboes, everything has a value. They can take a #10 tin can, put a handle on it and it becomes their coffee mug, or cup for their mulligan stew.

Hobo Signs

Hoboes have been a part of our culture for a long time. Most historians accept that they got their start shortly after the Civil War. Many of those returning from the war had nothing left at the homes they returned to and decided to “hit the road” in search of a better life. As the railroads expanded, so did the range of the hobo. There’s also no agreement as to where the term “hobo” even came from. Some believe it derived from the term hoe boy, from the freed slaves. Others claim it’s source as short for homeward bound.  In any case, the culture itself has been around long enough to have developed its own societal standards and language. An example of their symbols used in messaging can be seen in this photo. If you wander a railroad yard, or under a railroad bridge you’re likely to see some of these symbols that tell other hoboes passing through what they can expect locally. The entire symbol list has about two dozen more symbols used.

One of the things I found of particular interest was their identities. All hoboes have hobo names (handles) that they’re known by within the hobo community. I, and I suspect most people thought they just chose what they wanted to be known as like Frypan, or Slow Motion, Hobo Bill etc. Not so. Their hobo moniker is assigned to them by others in the community.
Any hobo is welcome in the jungle and is welcome to the coffee and mulligan stew without contribution. However that courtesy is only extended for the first night. The next day, each “bo” as they refer to themselves is expected to pitch in something for the meal…if he doesn’t, he’ll go hungry. Charity only goes so far in a community with very limited resources. While at the convention in Britt, they don’t panhandle, stuff is just brought down to the jungle for them. I noticed during the evenings entertainment the newlyweds going through a pile of cards and simple gifts. Watching from a ways away I could see in many of the cards were a few dollars to help them start their new life, so I walked over and handed them a $20 bill and wished them a happy future.
We on the outside of their life may think of them as loners or society’s outcasts, but they are quick to rally around their own. I’m sure most of them here, didn’t know each other well, or even at all, except for the convention, but you’d have thought they’d been next-door neighbors for years. It was more like a neighborhood street party, than a party of people from either nowhere in particular, or someplace far away.

There are few events I’d recommend people attend as many people’s likes are quite subjective; however I would encourage everyone to attend the National Hobo Convention in Britt, Iowa. It’s held the second week of August each year. While there’s a schedule for the entire week, it seems that most of the week, they’re arriving and getting settled in. If you arrive in the area on Thrusday evening you’ll be fine as most of the things of interest take place Fri, Sat, and Sun. There’s not a carnival atmosphere. No rides etc. There is a craft fair on the main street on Friday and there’s a parade one of the days….I missed that so I can’t comment on it. On the Sunday, there’s a huge auto, semi, and farm tractor show on the main street. Some of the custom work is as good as you’ll see anywhere. I didn’t spend a lot of time there as I was there for the hoboes, I’ve seen plenty of car shows.

While you’re in Britt, be sure to visit the Hobo Museum which has artifacts, collections etc. dating back into the early 1930′s. You can also visit The Hobo Cemetery, located within the local Evergreen Cemetery where you can check out the gravesites of those free-spirited men and women whom have caught the Westbound.

To find the jungle you can take the streets of Steamtrain Way, Bindle Boulevard and Hobo Lane which along with Main Avenue, form the boundries of Hobo Park.

One caveat I’ll toss in. While the hoboes are quite polite, they use the “f-word” freely. The only place you might hear it used more is a Richard Pryor or Eddie Murphy live show. If there would be a negative for some, it might be that. Other than that, I think most people, if they can leave their preconceived ideas at home, will enjoy a few days with a small contingent of our population we either don’t see, or look right through.

I’m not sure where my fascination with hoboes comes from. My mother seemed to share it though. She told me stories when I was young about the depression and how hoboes would come to their door offering  any type of work for a bit of food. She was the one that told me they have ”jungles” and that there is a hobo king. I don’t think she ever mentioned a queen. Given she always loved travelling, and had seen them as a young girl during the depression I think she had a certain amount of respect for them and their ways.

My own first encounter with a hobo was in 1979. I was entering the freeway on-ramp outside Ann Arbor, Michigan on a trip to South Bend, Indiana. The guy was standing with his thumb out on the ramp. He was late 40′s or early 50′s, clean, in a white t-shirt and jeans with a suitcase with a sign taped to it saying “Chicago”. Since he had a destination, looked clean I figured he was safe and picked him up. Once on the freeway, I told him I could get him as far as the South Bend exit and we began to chat. He started out by saying he’d just gotten out of jail. I thought to myself…..”great…I just picked up a serial killer.” Fortunately, he went on to explain that he was in a small town in Ohio, where he was picked up by the local constabulary for loitering. He explained it’s just a trumped up charge they use, to pick them up, toss them into a warm jail bed, feed them, let them shower and then release them in the morning. Needless to say, the explanation provided a measure of relief. He told me he was a hobo and was headed for Seattle, to winter over. When I asked if he had family, he said he did, a wife and a couple kids, that he did keep in touch with. Out of curiosity I asked how a guy with a family ends up a hobo. He said he really didn’t know. “I went to the store one night to pick up a pack of cigarettes….and….just never went home.” I think all of us, at one time or another have just felt like dropping out. Well….he actually did it. He said when he gets to Chicago, there’s a lady there that works for a bank. She’d give him a hot meal and a small amount of cash and he’d move on. He said that’s pretty much the way it is all across the country, till he gets to Seattle, where he spends the winters. He seemed to be pretty happy, certainly not anymore unhappy than anyone else I’ve known.

There are other regional hobo festivals that I’ve seen listed, but Britt is the official hobo capital, not only according to Britt, but the hoboes as well.

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Britt, Iowa and the National Hobo Convention (Part 1)

Posted on November 16, 2011 by Denny

Okay, how does one go about explaining a hobo convention?  The place to start is with definitions. What exactly is a hobo? Despite what Webster or other dictionaries might say, the only one that counts is how hoboes themselves define a hobo. Their definitions are:

  • A Hobo is a man who Travels to work.
  • A Tramp is a man who travels and won’t work.
  • A Bum is a man who won’t travel or work.

*The last one, a bum, they sometimes include that he’s apt to have problems with alcohol or drugs.

There’s some confusion about the early hobo conventions with some thinking that they were held in Chicago. Actually, the first two were held in Twin Oaks, Michigan. The reason for the confusion is that the four orginal members of the Tourist Union 63 were from Chicago. They had travelled to Twin Oaks for the convention. The other point adding to the confusion was that when the town fathers of Britt, Iowa were looking for something to stimulate their local economy, they travelled to Chicago to meet with the original four members in an effort to get them to move the convention to Britt. After they brought the 4 members to Britt to look the place over it was agreed that the convention would meet there in 1900. It’s been held there each year since 1900 and will probably remain there for the foreseeable future.

So what is the purpose of a hobo convention? A better question might be, “why does it need to have a purpose?” Actually it does. It’s the event where as many as can congregate not only to have fun swapping stories, but they do conclude one “official” bit of business. Each year they elect the new King and Queen of the hoboes, who will reign as royalty for the next year.

Another point of confusion is the titles of King and Queen. Offically the title of the king is Head Pipe, and no one seems to know why the Queen is called the Queen rather than the Head Pipette or Head Pipe Cleaner or something else more colorful. Meaning no disrespect to the Head Pipe, for purposes here, I’ll use the title of King as it only requires typing one word rather than two.

Tourist Union 63 was founded by one Charles Noe and three others in 1900. They were four young men of little responsibiltiy and a love of travel. While preparing for the trip to the first convention to be held in Britt, Iowa, they founded the Tourist Union 63, evidently for the purposes of at least appearing they were organized in some form or fashion. The reason for the 63, is that was the number of the first membership list. Again…”list” implies at least, organization.

The conditions for membership were pretty simple, especially for the time. To gain membership, you had to swear an oath that:

  • You’d ridden the rods (rails/steel) for 1,000 miles.
  • That during that 1,000 miles, you’d survived only by panhandling dookies the entire time.
  • That if you were ever elected to Congress, you’d promise legislation to require soup kitchens at every railroad yard, and better and bigger free beers.

Today the first two requirements are waived with the payment of $5; however you do still have to swear to the last one….they seem pretty firm about that one. After paying my $5, and swearing to the latter requirement I became for the first time in my life, a card-carrying union member, officially I guess making me a hobo. Loving travel I figure it fits me well.

So, what did I expect for my first hobo convention? I don’t know. I had decided to keep an open mind about it all and limit my preconceived ideas or biases. I’m glad I did because it left me more able to enjoy the environment. First, they weren’t all dirty and smelly as most of us would think. Yes, their clothes are in many cases pretty worn, but I only saw one, who would actually qualify as unkempt.

My Arrival

Because I blew and tire and had to buy a new set for the rear and feeling waaay under the weather I didn’t arrive until Thursday afternoon. Feeling bad, I just checked into a local campground and went to bed in the hope of feeling good enough to venture to the convention the next day.

By Friday afternoon I wasn’t feeling good but I could at least get around a bit so decided to venture over to the hobo festivities. I only made it to the main street of town where there was a street bazaar going on. After walking about half of it, I decided to return to my campground and go back to bed, which turned out to be the wise move as Saturday morning I woke up feeling pretty decent allowing me to head to the convention.

The festivities center around the hobo jungle which is held in one of Britt’s parks named Hobo Park. The first thing you notice is that while unwelcome in most communities, the opposite is true in Britt.

The relationship with the town of Britt, IA is sort of symbiotic. The town not only tolerates them, but welcomes the hoboes in. They have a respect for them and it’s readily apparent that the hoboes feel the same way about the town. While the convention is going on, the hoboes want for nothing. On Saturday morning about 5am a farmer dropped off a dressed pig. By 6am, it was properly cooking over the fire and at 5pm, it was being served. In addition, various stores drop off bread, pastries, veggies, drinks (soft) and anything else that might be needed for a feast, open to all.

Hobo Park, the location of the jungle is at the edge of town near the railroad tracks. While all the rest of the street signs are in the usual green background with white lettering, the signs around Hobo Park are red with white lettering with a picture of the typical hobo image. There’s a boxcar located there permanently, that non hoboes aren’t allowed into except by invitation of a hobo. The town has built them a pavillion providing shade and tables and there are a bunch of old fridges I assume have been donated. It’s their place, the rest of us there are just welcomed guests.

Entering the Jungle

Being my first time there, and especially not knowing how they might react to someone with a camera around their neck, I tried to remain as inconspicuous as I could hanging on the margins. That didn’t last long. An old hobo approached me and asked if I was taking pictures. I responded I’d hoped to but didn’t want to invade anyone’s privacy. He said…”don’t worry about it, we’re all used to it. I’m Bill…I’m a stealer, and an agent.”

With that, he handed me his card. He owns a structural steel company, hence the steeler, and then he pointed to 3 young women and said, he represents them. He went on to tell me that he’s in his mid-80′s and the young women have adopted him as their father and that he couldn’t be more proud of his “daughters”.  It seems back in the early 90′s they had come to the convention kind of to honor their father who’d been a hobo and was buried in the town cemetery. He was there paying his respects for old hoboes he’d known that were buried there. They began talking and he learned they are a musical group of gospel singers. While they were planning on leaving, he encouraged them to stay and join in the evening festivities around the campfire. They stayed and have become a big part of the convention each year since, with him making the arrangements to get them there, picking them up at the airport etc. I’ve forgotten what the name of their group is 51 weeks of the year, but for the 1 week, they’re billed as the National Hobo Singers….and, they are quite good.

It should be mentioned here that most hoboes, don’t ride the rails all their lives. Most only do it for a few years and end up returning to the real world, many becoming very successful. Remember the 4 original members of Tourist Union 63 mentioned above? One went on to become a successful journalist, another ended up owning a chain of restaurants in Chicago, and I’ve forgotten what the other two ended up doing, but all ended up quite successful. While having a discussion with the 2010 King I asked if anyone knows how many hoboes there are today. He said, best guess is around 50,000, down from its depression high of over 1,000,000. He told me that most of those that take to the rails with the idea of doing it permanently finally have to give it up, either because they’re no longer fast enough to hop a train, or can no longer continue because of health reasons. He said it’s a hard life, and very hard on one’s general health. I listened to him relating a story where someone locked him in a freezer car where he ended up suffering frostbite before he finally was heard and let out. Each had stories of close calls, some caused by deliberate actions of others, and some just blunders on their part. When you listen to their stories you know, that for each of these that are around to tell them….many others aren’t.

I found virtually all of them to be quite nice and more than friendly. All are willing to have their photos taken. I also got to meet the oldest female hobo. She’s a very nice Black lady and is 87 yrs old. Though she no longer rides the rails, she’s still a hobo, as are all who have ever ridden the rods. Many there are no longer riding trains for a variety of reasons, but they all still identify themselves as hoboes, not former hoboes. Once a hobo, always a hobo.

The caricature heading this post of the carefree fellow carrying his bindle with his toes sticking out of his flopping soles was created in 1900 by a printer in Chicago and has remained as the standard since. It’s believed to be a caricature of Charles Noe, one of the original organizers of Tourist Union 63. You’ll see this fellow all over Britt on street signs, window displays and literature. He figures prominently in the hobo culture.

After a week of campaigning, on Saturday afternoon, the new Royalty is finally elected and crowned. The crown is fashioned from an old coffee can. They will reign over the rest of the fesivities and throughout the coming year.

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A Dead Computer

Posted on November 13, 2011 by Denny

For about the last month I’ve been screwing around with my computer. I managed to fry the motherboard. Finally deciding that replacing the whole computer was cheaper than buying a new motherboard that’s what I opted to do. That’s the main reason I’ve been delayed in posting. The other is, that once I got the new laptop, I’m not able to get my photos off the old harddrive. When I backed it up to my portable harddrive, there was evidently a virus on board. The anti-virus software sees the individual files on the drive and scans them, but when you try to access them, it says there’s no volume on the drive.

Rather than wait to update any longer I’ve decided to do a post or two without the photos and then drop them in later after I have a geek retrieve them.

In addition, I’m going to start a standalone gallery of photos where those interested will be able to see more photos, some relating to the stories, others not. Remember, that all the photos on the blog can be enlarged simply by clicking on them.

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The Petrified Forest and Painted Desert

Posted on September 26, 2011 by Denny

An Artists Palette

The Petrified Forest and Painted Desert are located within the same park. Rt-66 actually goes through a part of the Painted Desert.

The fossilized trees and other flora and fauna date from about 225 million years ago. Back then this was a hot tropical forest very near the equator and was part of a super-continent.

Over time this super-continent broke up and this part gravitated north to it’s present location. It became a large lake covering most of Northeastern AZ and Northwestern NM. As a product of runoff, anything landing in the rivers that fed the lake including these trees ended up at the bottom of the lake and were eventually covered in silt and mud. On the surface of the ground, they would have simply decayed or be fed on by other organisms but on the lake bottom the cellular structure was replaced by minerals…in effect preserving them.

Again, over time, this area was thrust upward. In some places as high as 10,000 feet where it became exposed to the forces of erosion. As you visit the park today and see these monsterous trees lying broken on the ground you might think they just fell over there.

No so, they were on the bottom of what was once the lake. Over time…about 225 million years to be exact, the forces of erosion took away what had at one time been the silt and mud, leaving the tree trunks lying on the ground.

The distribution of the fallen trees though the area varies widely. In some places there is only one or two, while in other areas there are what appear to be hundreds of all sizes. For the most part to my untrained eye they appear to be about the same size as trees of today, though all those identified in the park have been long extinct. It’s only fair to note here. All these varieties of trees went extinct…all by themselves without the help of, or the hand of man. Heck…they were dead and gone 224+ million years before our relatives who weren’t even walking upright yet even appeared.

Trees Of Another Time

It’s interesting to stand among these broken trees and try to imagine what life was like during the time they were standing. They stood during the early reign of the dinosaurs before succumbing to “climate-change”. 

They stood in a world that was still evolving in a wild fashion. Lots of volcano’s, heavy rains and very hot temperatures and air to breathe that was much different than what we breathe today.

The same erosion that caused these trees to surface also provides the palette of colors in the Painted Desert, a term it’s believed was first coined by early Spanish explorers that visited the area.

A Land Of Color

 The color provided comes from the erosion of layers made up of different materials. While there’s some color during the day, it becomes more dramatic during the early morning or late evening hours. The closer to sunset, the more dramatic the color, especially anything with red in it.

For photography purposes either timing it or lucking out and just ending up there just before or after a thunderstorm would provide a lot of interesting cloud action to the sky. On my visit it looked like there was a thunderstorm building a few hundred miles to the west but the park closes at 7 p.m. so hanging around for it wasn’t an option.

A Lone Giant

In the photo at the left, if you enlarge it you can see several small pieces of petrified wood lying about. This shows how random the distribution of it really is.

For the record, they’re pretty strict about taking anything from the park. Upon entry they ask you if you purchased any petrified wood outside the park. I hadn’t and told them no, but I’m guessing they do something to identify it if you did, so if you’re spotted with it you don’t end up going to a federal prison.

There are a lot of hiking trails within the park going to various archeological sites but without a motor I let those sites welcome others more ambitious than me.

Blinding Reds

As the sun gets lower in the sky, the colors really begin to pop, especially the reds it seems.

Visiting the Petrified Forest/Painted Desert doesn’t require a lot of time. You could spend as little as an hour or two, or the better part of a day, depending on what you’re interested in seeing.  I wasn’t too interested in doing much in the line of hiking as it was August and the operative word in the title is “desert”, meaning it’s not a pleasant place to be during August. By evening the temperatures were getting milder, but that’s when they come along with the big boot and send you out of the park.

All in all it’s worth the visit. If you’re looking for a learning experience and enjoy very old history as I do, then the visit is worthwhile. If you’re planning on a photography experience, plan some time when you’re more likely to see clouds in the sky to punch up your photos. The colors will always be there but those crystal clear skies fail to add anything to an otherwise good photo.

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N. Arizona The Grand Canyon

Posted on September 26, 2011 by Denny

Grand Canyon South Rim

This is a tough one. How does one go about telling about a hole in the ground 277 miles long, 18 miles wide and over a mile (6000 ft) deep. With some trepidation at being able to do the experience justice. It’s much more than just a big hole in the ground. It’s something sculpted by nature for over 17-billion years. That’s a lot of birthdays. First there’s more to the canyon than the canyon itself. Wildlife is abundant everywhere, including next to and on the roads.

Local Elk, Grand Canyon

This fellow was one of three that seemed to be a part of the Canyon Welcoming Committee. If I posted all of the 50 or so shots I took of them you’d notice one thing above everything else. Not that they’re big, not that they’re beautiful or any other adjective you might use to descibe them, but that they’re always munching. Out of some 50 or more shots, this was the only one I was able to get with a head in a somewhat upright position. They make for a very unwilling model and would soon be drummed out of the modeling business. They seem to constantly keep their heads in the grass munching away even when moving about, the head never comes up. It’s like they all have arthritis in their necks.

To find them is no problem. Just look for the backup of cars parked on the road and the idiots (like myself) in the grass thinking they’re going to get a good shot of them. They are completely unconcerned with people…of course if I was as large as they are and had a rack like they do, people probably wouldn’t intimidate me either. This shot was from a bit farther away than many…some were as close as about 10 feet…fortunately, they were tolerant of me as they could do a lot of damage if they weren’t. As you travel through the park you’ll see them everywhere. Mountain lions and extra severe winters are about the only threat they have so unlike deer they’re pretty much like a husband or wife…they just ignore you. 

For my adventure I based out of  Williams, AZ. It’s about 40 or 50 miles from the park entrance and offers a slew of eating places from fancy dining to fast food fare. Williams is also the base for the Grand Canyon Railway that carries people to the depot inside the park. I didn’t take it because I wanted to be able to wander freely within the park and wanted to be able to stop for photo-ops between those scheduled by the interpark transportation. I’d originally planned to spend just a day here since I’d seen it several times before, but got caught up in its beauty and moved slower than I’d planned.

Grand Canyon With River

One of the problems with photographing the canyon in the summer months is the haze that creeps in during the course of the day. Each photo you shoot ends up being a little hazier than the one before so anyone going there for photography purposes I’d suggest getting there very early and getting set up. Unfortunately, I don’t do early well. My 6 a.m. wakeup call provided by the Grand Canyon Railway steam engine whistle leaving the station was a bit too late to experience the clearest air. If you click on the photo to enlarge it, you can see in the lower left quadrant the Colorado River as it continues to shape and mold the canyon. The water was quite muddy as there had been a lot of storm activity to the north making it hard to discern from the surrounding ground.

If you’d like a closer look at the bottom of the canyon, you can take a pack train down. They promote the fact that even though the donkey’s during the trip will stop and look over the edge with their feet literally on the edge, in all the years the tours have been provided, they’ve never lost a donkey or rider to a fall. In fact, they say they use donkey’s over horses as they’re smarter and more sure footed….both traits you like to see in your ride down.

If you’re a glutton for punishment you can always hike down….needless to say, I didn’t spend a lot of time checking into that. It should be said though, that it’s not as safe as taking the donkey. A number of people have met bad ends while hiking down, and nobody’s died as a result of the donkey ride. I don’t know how many have died from falls, some I know have died from lack of preparation, namely, not taking enough or any water with them and died of dehydration before they could be rescued.

As a sidebar….you can also fly through the canyon. Again, not as safe as the donkey’s. There have been numerous crashes of planes and helicoptors over the years, but you’ll probably feel safer even though you’re not. 

Kind of a conundrum isn’t it? Which will you feel safer doing…sitting on the back of a donkey, something with a mind (not a great one) of its own while it stops to look over the edge of a 1-mile drop, or flying in a plane or chopper with an experienced pilot, that wants to get home too, or even hiking down. Heck, we’re all capable of walking….ya think? What if it’s a suicidal donkey?  Just something for you to think about….

Grand Canyon Flora

The Grand Canyon is really something that should be experienced as a destination rather than an attraction along the way to someplace. The park is so large that even a couple of days can’t do it justice. I spent 2 days there and never got off the South Rim. I tried twice to get some sunset shots across the canyon but the haze by that time of the day, this time of year is really too thick to do it justice.

I’ve posted the photos so you can see how the haze becomes overwhelming by evening. It’s too bad because there were a lot of people trying to get the same shot and many were from different parts of the world and may never be able to get back there again. For me, I’ll try again later in the fall or maybe even winter when the air is much clearer. I guess the cold does have some advantages.

Grand Canyon Late In The Day

It’s a tough shot because you’re shooting nearly into the sun…in this shot it’s just to the left of the frame. Even those shots where the sky isn’t blown out, you end up with lens flares, “orbs” to you  esoteric folks. This photo was taken about an hour before sunset. You can see the river at the bottom of the frame.

For the last photo (below) of the sun just seconds from falling over the horizon the shot was a little easier. Even after the sun is gone there’s still a glow over the canyon but to shoot it, the photo would mostly be of a black bottom with some color in the top of the frame…not an especially interesting photo.

Grand Canyon End Of The Day

At some point in the next few months, probably during the winter I’ll venture back over there to spend more time. At that time I’ll also visit the North Rim and maybe take the Skywalk….the new glass deck and walkway one of the Native American tribes erected that allows you to step out OVER the canyon. Something to look forward to.

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Northern AZ Part 2, and Rt-66

Posted on September 26, 2011 by Denny

Iconic Road

Route-66 is probably the most famous road in America, if not the world. Since it was decommissioned in 1985 it’s popularity has soared not only here but throughout Europe and Asia as well.

I was fortunate enough to have traveled its full length several times before it was replaced by the Interstate System. Having begun its life in 1926 and named National Trail Hwy, it’s more commonly known as the Mother Road. It’s fame is more likely to have resulted from the artist community rather than anything the road actually ever did. It was made famous in song, movies and television. Over the years it almost became comical for it’s outragous signage and creative architecture used in cafe’s, service stations (yes Virginia, they actually existed), motels and tourist traps with their Giant Rabbits, two-headed rattlesnakes and tepees to capture the imaginations of travelers. Rt-66 became more popular after WW-II. With the GI’s back from the war and the war rationing of gasoline and tires a thing of the past, people were ready to travel and Ford, GM, Chrysler, American Motors were more than willing to help you do just that. As traffic built on the road, more and more businesses appeared beside it, to service it…it’s likely, many of the small towns along it’s track actually came into being because of the highway. Sadly, as the new Interstate Highway came online, many of these towns simply faded into history.

Stand’in on the Corner In Winslow Arizona

One of these towns that refused to die is Winslow, Arizona. Originally a railroad town, with Rt-66 as the main street in town the added traffic allowed the town to thrive.  It  got a breath of life later when the Eagles highlighted the town and a girl in a flatbed Ford. For years Winslow has capitalized on those few song lyrics to carve out its place.

Today this wall is all that remains of a building that used to stand here. The side of the building you see here, if you click on the photo to make it larger you’ll see that the windows and the scenes are simply painted on the wall. On the other side of the wall is a new park. This rendidtion of it is only a few years old at best as I have photos from several years ago when I went through here and it was still a building with the scenes painted on the side.

A Valentine Diner

Another rare feature to be found in Winslow is this old, vintage Valentine Diner. These diners were the brainchild of Arthur Valentine. They were unique for their time. They featured a floorplan that had a counter and either 8 or 10 stools. They were designed to be operated by one or two people. Another unique feature was that they were an all steel building, built in a factory and delivered to a prepared site on a flatbed truck. To make them affordable Valentine came up with a simple financing plan. Each diner had a little safe build into the wall near the door. Each day, the proprietor was to deposit a percentage of his profits into the safe and at some regular period a Valentine employee would make the rounds and take out the funds. If you failed to put your payment in the safe…likely as not, your diner would be gone in the middle of the night….quite and incentive. You can learn a lot about these cute little diners with a simple keyword search of “valentine diners”. This one in Winslow has been let go for some time but will likely be purchased by some aficionado and restored. This has become a popular thing of late, much like restoring old cars or travel trailers.

Wigwam Motel Holbrook, AZ

No trip over the Arizona stretch of Rt-66 would be complete without a stop at the Wigwam Motel in Holbrook. One of two remaining it still smacks of its 1950′s history. The motel actually has two sections. One section is what you see here the wigwams, while the other section is like any other two-story motel that you can see on the right side of the frame.

Twin Arrows, Arizona

Only in America could you have two “towns” only a few miles apart with names like Two Guns, and Twin Arrows. Not much is left of either one these days, but again if you click on the picture to the left of Twin Arrows, you’ll see the attached diner on the left of the building is another Valentine Diner. If you head west on RT-66 from here, in the matter of an hour or so you can stop for a bite to eat at the famous Roadkill Cafe’ in Seligman, AZ. There are also several Rt-66 dedicated stores down the street. One has a couple of 58 Edsels sitting out front with mannequins of Elvis and Marilyn Monroe you can take your photo with. I didn’t stop at Meteor Crater since I was pressed for time and wanted to take some time at the Grand Cavity.

If you have young children with you, there’s a nice deer park beside Rt-66 where they can see, feed and pet the deer up close. Be careful driving the area after dark as you’re likely to see one directly in front of your vehicle which is not a good thing.
If you’re of the humming and buzzing persuasion and enjoy all things esoteric, or if you simply enjoy beautiful carved mountain scenery, mostly in shades of red with some green, the 40 minute drive south from Flagstaff will be of interest. There you’ll find Sedona. The area is home to many, many spiritual endeavors and is a photographers  mecca with all the massive rock formations, most named and again, around sun-up or sun-down in bold shades of orange and red.
Red Rocks of Sedona Sunset

Sedona is claimed to have a number of vortices. I can’t say I’ve ever noticed anything special about the “vibes” in the area other than it can be a beautiful place to relax for a period. Even without the vortices, the town is magical if you can hit it outside of the tourist season. It’s become such a popular destination that traffic and parking are real problems that I can’t imagine the locals are happy about.

If you take time to wander into some of the galleries of local photographers you’ll see (and have the option to purchase) some really wonderful photographs of not only the surrounding Sedona area, but other wild areas as well. There’s no shortage of things to see and do in Sedona regardless of your particular interests. The drive in from the North down through the canyon is interesting as well as scenic. Actually, it’s through a heavily forested canyon. A few miles before reaching Sedona there’s a very large turnoff on the east side of the road. Here you can take a few minutes to watch the rock climbers scaling the verical walls of the rock canyon in their effort to reach an early demise. You can also shop the silver jewelry the local Native Tribes offer for sale. Everything sold here is certified to be made, not in China or India, but by Native Americans. The vendors are checked regularly to assure confomity. It’s a bit off your Rt-66 path, but well worth the time it’ll take, and from there, you can venture on to the Grand Cavity & Painted Dessert. I know…it’s the Grand Canyon and Painted Desert….whatever you call them, they’re outstanding.
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Northern Arizona Part-1

Posted on September 26, 2011 by Denny

Many think of Arizona as a hot dry state of mostly desert. This is the environment of the Southern part of the state, but the Northern part is nearly the opposite. Being a few degrees of latitude farther north and a few thousand feet higher in elevation it’s populated by forests of pine, aspen and oak instead of the stately saguaro cacti. As a side note: for those who think the appearance of a saguaro cactus is light in weight. Because they absorb huge amounts of water making them actually quite heavy…in fact, about 100 pounds per inch.

Northern AZ Aspen Forest

The geography of Northern Arizona lends itself to WINTER, with SNOW & ICE, but the summers there are much cooler and the air much fresher than the southern part of the state. There’s grass, streams, trees and green abounds rather than the many shades of brown that dominates the southern landscape. I opted to head up to a little mountain resort town called Greer. It’s located very near the area of this past summers fires. In fact you have to drive through much of the burn area to get there. Already among the charred trees and ground you see signs of new life taking hold. Wildflowers and mushrooms beginning to flourish in the newly scorched earth. Just outside of Greer I came across this little stream that kind of skirts the tiny town.

Mountain Stream

Unfortunately because of the overcast skies the photos lack vibrant colors but it still gets the idea across.

Just outside of Greer are three small picturesque lakes. While I was at one of them, a group of people who had been walking their dogs let them run to the lake where they ended up frolicing for the next hour while their owners sat chatting. It was fun to watch their boundless energy as they swam and chased each other along the shoreline.  The shores of these lakes teemed with various wildflowers, most of which I have no idea what they are. I did recognize the irises though as they were the subject of many Monet paintings and always invoke a certain peace around them.

N. AZ Mountain Lake

All of Northern Arizona is so much different that the lower desert part of the state. Not only is the air cooler it’s much more fresh. The sky is much more blue because of the higher elevations. All along the road during the drive up there were wildflowers and gently rolling, grass covered hills.  On my visit up there I saw relatively few others aside from those that appear to own cabins in the area.

Wild Iris

  Not too long after I’d arrived in the area the clouds gave way to bright sunshine. While it didn’t actually raise my mood, it did prod me to put on a hat, something I loath. Greer is a place that I will surely return to in the future. I would have spent more time on this trip but I was on a bit of a schedule having to be in Iowa for the National Hobo Convention so I couldn’t dilly-dally as much as I would’ve liked.

Old Sleigh N. AZ

  On my way out of town I noticed this old sleigh setting along side the road and decided to take a couple shots of it. As I was taking photos of it a guy walked across the road from a cafe. He said it’s still used in the winter. The guy that owns it give folks in the area sleigh rides. Appearing as though he wanted to see it out of there he suggested I take it with me. I wouldn’t have minded if I’d had someplace to keep it and something to do with it since you don’t see many of them around anymore. Well I have to push on down the road. I’ll be heading toward Highway 40 and running parts of old Route-66 where the alignment still exists.

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Leaving Phoenix

Posted on September 12, 2011 by Denny

Phoenix Monsoon Lightning

 Before leaving Phoenix I was treated to one of it’s famous monsoon lightning storms. Lightning is notoriously difficult to photograph without a lightning trigger on the camera. In this case, I didn’t have one but decided I’d give it a shot anyway.

I set up my tripod and camera on the patio with the idea that if I took a shot at measured intervals, at least one would have to time out right.

                                                                                                       

Phoenix Monsoon Lightning 2

The natural tendency is to snap the shutter when you first see the flash, but of course, by then it’s too late….all you end up with is an overexposed photo with no bolt in it.

In this case I was lucky enough to make me want to give the lottery another shot. Out of several hundred shots I took, about 4 or 5 were successful. None however were the result of triggering after I saw the flash begin. Trying to get the shot by pulling the trigger once the strike begins only has you constantly chasing, never being ahead of the strike. It’s much like choosing different numbers in a lottery each draw…with two sets of numbers creating a constantly moving target it’s unlikely they’ll connect even though each drawing is a separate event.  By pulling the trigger every 10 or 15 seconds at least one of the variables gets locked in.

Phoenix Monsoon Lightning 3

Okay, enough of the lightning photos for now. The next update will be from Northern Arizona where hopefully there won’t be any lightning.

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Like Looking Into Hell

Posted on July 23, 2011 by Denny

Hell

This photo has no reference to my travels. It’s just one I took several years ago from my backyard one evening and have never found a real use for it.

Driving home from work I noticed the clouds forming thick, low and quite ominous. Once home I fed my cat and walked out to the patio to see how they were progressing. It only took a second to determine I was going to need my camera. At this time of day, lighting changes very quickly. Fortunately, my camera was handy. The photo doesn’t actually do justice to the actual scene, but surely gets the point across.

Once I downloaded the photo from my camera to the computer, my first impression was it must be what a view of hell would be like. Two minutes after I shot it, the sun had completely changed and the view was no different than any other cloudy evening. You can click on the photo, or any of the others to view larger versions.

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Timeless Wickenburg Arizona

Posted on July 19, 2011 by Denny

You can only “experience” and appreciate Wickenburg by visiting it during the summer. On the other hand if you want to enjoy it, time your visit for the winter months. There’s plenty to see and do, but seeing and doing is tough when you have to forcefully remove yourself from air-conditioned comfort into the 110 degree ambient temperature which is much higher when you’re in the ever present sun. In fact it’s strange. In most places the sun rises and sets creating cooler periods in the morning and evening. In Arizona, the sun just seems to be there…no rising, no real setting, just the big, bright orange ball in the sky. There never seems to be anything gradual about it.

Wickenburg is a place I’ve wanted to visit for a long time but it’s never been on a path to anywhere I was headed. I have a member of an rv’ing group I belong to that invited me to visit and see the area which gave me the motivation to take the road less traveled…by me at least.

Wickenburg was founded by one Henry Wickenburg, something of a local farmer and prospector of the mid 1800′s. He found gold at the site of what would become the Vulture Mine. Ultimately the mine would produce over $30-million in gold. As with any gold strike it brought in those seeking fortune in all sorts of ways. Saloons, bordellos and all sorts of businesses, some legitimate and some not, sprang up to cater to the needs of the minors. One of those businesses was the barbershop, a popular place when the miners came to town for their Saturday night bath. Lost to most of us is the history of the old red, white and blue barbers pole that was a fixture outside every barborshop of yore.

The history of the barbers pole dates back nearly a thousand years in Europe and is typically regulated there. In the U.S. there has been little if any regulation of it’s use except having to do with local signage regulations regarding size and type…neither of which was much of an issue in the 1800′s.

The initial thought naturally would be that the red, white and blue had some patriotic or nationalistic meaning. Not so I learned from a guide. The white meant that you could get a haircut or shave. The red meant that you could get medical or dental attention, since most barbers also served the function of a modern-day dentist and would pull teeth. They would also close up wounds and maybe set broken bones. Barbers weren’t allowed to open you up, only surgeons could do that, but if someone else had opened you, the barber to was allowed to do what he could to close you up again.  The blue meant you could get a bath. In fact one of the barber poles in town is only red and white, indicating there was no bath available.

Madam Mariha Our Ghost Tour Guide

A Ghost Tour had been arranged for me for the evening. My guide was to be Madam Mariha who dressed in period clothing, carrying her lantern, told her stories with the lilt of a perfect Irish brogue. She regaled me with history and ghost stories from the underbelly of Wickenburg’s history. During the 90 minute tour we walked down the dark streets and went into relevant saloons, restaurants etc. setting the stage for her tales. Here you see her in front of the Vernetta Hotel, one of the nicest of its day with a statue of its ”former” owner, who it’s said still can be seen walking the halls. No longer tending to her guests but overseeing the current bevy of patients as the building today is a suite of medical offices. Lillian was poisoned by the old mayor for several reasons, one was race related, the other simple greed. Lillian had built the hotel into a very profitable business by faithfully tending to her property and guests. With the advent of the railroad coming to town it became even more recognized and lucrative with the train station only a block away. She was a fixture in the lobby greeting everyone who arrived. Unfortunately the trains not only brought business, they also brought prejudice with the Santa Fe saying a ”Negro” couldn’t be allowed to run such a fine establishment. Lillian dispite pressure from the mayor to buy her out continued to run the hotel for some time, but was no longer the “front-person” greeting the travelers. Finally, the mayor got his wish. Lillian was poisoned whether by the mayor or her husband no one knows but the story says her husband sold to the mayor and left town…all available in the towns records. The tour covered about 30 different stories in the 90 minutes. She said she has about 2000 to draw from so it’s different every night. Should you return at a later time, you won’t be taking the same tour again.

Original Livery Stable

This building, once the livery stable now serves as a general merchantile business serving the tourists who forgot a hat or wish to pick up something for friends back home. At the rear of the building is a saddlery, one of several in town. The long roof you see covering the sidewalk is a common fixture. It serves to protect foot traffic from the torrential rains common to the area and when not raining shades them from the blazing sun.  The entire town is not just a case of arrested decay, but has been very well maintained thoughout its history.

Town Clock

And, what self-respecting town would be without a town clock? Not Wickenburg. Like much of Arizona, the clock comes to life as the sun begins to go down.  Because of the heat of the day, people who can, stay indoors but once the sun sets, life begins. This isn’t just true of the people, but of the animals of the desert as well. During the day the Sonoran desert life remains either in the shade of a cactus or below ground. When the sun begins to fall to the horizon and there’s a respite from its unrelending heat not only the towns come to life, but the desert thrives as well. Coyotes, rabbits, javalina, rattlesnakes and scorpions, they’re all out and about looking for their latest meal.

Prickly Pear Cactus

The Prickly Pear cacti are in full bloom meaning there are a lot of people of the desert preparing to make cactus jellies and jams. This one was near the base of the town clock and showing all it’s color, complete with the thorns. For those unfamiliar with cacti, for their size they’re very heavy. They have the ability to store moisture very efficiently which is what allows them to thrive in the very hot, dry parts of the southwest deserts. In fact the tall, armed, Saguaro cactus that looks like if you plop a hat on top would look like a man can range from 15 to 50 feet tall. They’re so efficient as soaking up rain that you can see them expand. While they may appear to be quite light, in fact the opposite is true. They weigh roughly 100# per foot….enough to crush a car should one get blown over onto it in a storm. For many years cactus candy and jellies have been a staple at the tourist traps. In fact I bought a box of the candy for a friend of mine who had never had it….or even heard of it.

The Bordello

It doesn’t show up well in the photo but the top story of this building “back in the day” was a house of ill-repute” and the lights on that floor are red serving as the calling card. It’s great for setting the mood of the tour. The ground floor was the lobby and a Dr. would poison travelers who he’d learn were carrying the family jewels…they’d never be heard from again after a night on the town with the good doctor. During the construction of a nearby parking lot they discovered a number of bodies, in a mass grave. Given the unorganized arrangement of the bodies and unknown identities it’s surmised they are those who disappeared without a trace so many years ago. The doctors wife eventually learned of the source of their wealth and took him to Santa Barbara California and had him committed to a mental hospital for the crimminally insane where he died 7 years later.

Wickenburg's Own Little Miracle

The palm tree you see here stands at a local church and is claimed to be they’re own little miracle. One of the features of this species of palm is that it doesn’t allow parasites to live on or in it. It’s natural defenses kill off anything trying to grow on it. For whatever reason, if you click the photo, you’ll see a prickly pear cactus thriving 20 feet above the ground. How it got there is anyones guess. Speculation is a passing bird left in his waste a lone seed that flourished into this miracle. Given both the palm and cactus are very slow growing it could be that a seed blew in on the wind when that part of the palm was at ground level and has simply continued to grow “up” with the tree. Whatever the method it makes a sight you don’t see every day.

Wickenburg is a town that is not only fun to visit but is also educational. I learned a lot while I was there from both of my guides not only about Wickenburg proper but the surrounding area. There’s a wonderful desert museum to visit. It has various exhibits dealing with the town and the surrounding areas history, but also houses several major collections. One is the Hayes Collection made up of the bronze sculptures of Fredrick Remington and the western art of Charles Russell. Other collections include a great photographic collection from some of the ghosttowns in the area. To go there and enjoy it, one should plan on spending 3 to 4 hours. In fact it should be first on anyone’s list of things to visit because it will likely direct you to surrounding sites you might otherwise not know exist. If you’re ever there, and my friend Sam is on duty as a volunteer say “hello” and she can direct you to almost anything in the valley.

Whether you believe in ghosts or not matters little, the history alone is well worth it. I’d highly recommend taking in the Ghost Tour. You can make a reservation and have a nice dinner in any of the various restaurants, from simple cafe’s to a very nice resaurant and then take the tour. If you’d like to know more about the tour you can visit her site at: www.WickenburgGhosts.weebly.com, or call 360-609-2280.

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