Ben Waters - Boogie Woogie New Year & BRAVE COMBO

Iz tym to DANCE!

Brave Combo Compilation

including 

The Chicken Dance !!! (at 2:50)

Gillespie Dam Bridge

So, the other day when it was nearing sundown and I was looking for a place to camp, there happened to be a bright green field with egrets. And just as happendly the road went up a hill. And there, atop the hill, was open land. I pulled in and spent the remains of the day watching the egrets fly a short distance to their roost.

The next day, motoring down the far side (of the hill) and passing over the Gila River, I spied what I thought must be storks. On the other side of the bridge a large family of motorcyclists was clambering up to THE INTERPRETIVE CENTER so I went on.

But this time I had it to myself.

American White Pelicans

(Are there German White Pelicans?) 

The history of the bridge:

https://www.hmdb.org/m.asp?m=54936

Swirling Birds & Egret

An article about the place.

Run This Way

I Have to Admit I'm Getting Better

 

First Use of Ghee

Good stuff, Maynard

I still can't believe the friggin' pan is purple!

Benson Resupply

It was 50 miles into town. But I was out of food and propane.

The forecast was for rain, but as the morning progressed the sky got bluer.

At 1:00, we were on the road...a half-hour early.

I gave out several Western Watersheds Project newsletters to folks coming in. I was pleasantly surprised when the first one asked, "You're saying we should stop supporting these rangeland Queens and return the land to habitat?" A bit taken aback by the use of "Queens," I had to allow they often behave like miffed royalty, pouting and sucking their thumbs. The others were polite and attentive to my spiel, and at least feigned interest.

Near sunset, the eternal question begged: Where to now brown cow? The musicians I met the other day commended Whitewater Draw Wildlife Area. Following a Google to make sure it hadn't succumbed to Covid and another query about distance, we set off. 

But what with interacting with all the people and enduring the loud blatting and backfire (at the gas station) of a couple of Dennis Hopper wannabes 

not to mention the resupply shopping, I'z z'austed. So though we (Phoebe and I) didn't go back to perzackly from whence we came, we ended up close.

Tuh-morowz anudder day; so we hope. 

They Say It's Your Birthday

Traditionally watched in Germany on New Year's Eve, I enjoyed this yesterday: my birthday. 

A bit about it's history: https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-46620852

Then there's this...gleaned from an early post of Island Musings

Further West

Time was, just the other day, when I had this area to myself. There were several cars on the main road -- a sandy two-track -- and a few others camped off a ways. Good ole 4wd and short wheelbase gets us across the steep-sided arroyos and away from the hoi-polloi.

Location Shot

Camp

I'm almost certain that's an acacia on the left. And if you look closely you can make out the leopard lounging on the limb of the mesquite on the right. There were rhino grazing in the distance.

Group Sex

Bowie Meditation

It's been weeks since I've "meditated." But at late afternoon it was warm enough at Bowie, Arizona to shed clothes and enjoy.

Years ago, but within recent memory, water flowed from the top of the mountain. It spread over the expanse of north-facing granite, the sheen beckoning me off the Interstate.

Once, when camped outside a locked gate, a BLM ranger stopped and told of a ranch house not far up the way that the Bureau had purchased. A short distance from the house an oak-lined arroyo with small pools sustained a flourishing habitat for birds and who knows what. It was the same water that came from the top.

The surrounding area has been converted to orchards and the water no longer flows off the mountain; sometimes you can see it coming out of the pipes that feed thousands of acres of pecans.

They're, whoever they are, continually planting more.

Practicing the teachings of Margo Anand whose fundamental message includes acceptance of all proclivities, I still see the pruned trees and the sharp-edged boundaries that define the orchards' perimeters as a perversion. Is there an unlimited supply of water? Have they considered how long it'll last? Is capitalistic narcissism the only real perversion? 

Transpiration contributes to a ubiquitous haze. 20 years ago the area had clear, blue skies.

Planted in even rows like corn, the pruned limbs reach toward the sky reminiscent of images of genocide. It's in stark contrast to the softness of the oaks, Apache Plume and others in the arroyo, still hanging on, pulling water, I surmise, from the subsurface flow that (maybe?) still makes its way down the mountain.

Subsurface irrigation reduces loss to evaporation