Drunk and Disorderly

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There has been a lot of talk in the press lately about the disappearance of bees. The main point of their argument is that once we were up to our asses keesters in bees, and now you have to put an ad on Craigslist to meet one. They’re just gone. No note, no warning, no packing up their honey and leaving, They’re just gone. Well, people whose lives depend on honey and the necessary bees to manufacture it, are understandably upset and rightly so. How are they going to make a living if they can’t exploit the genetic obsession of bees to create honey.

This bee loss thing causes lots of problems. One of which is, if bees are gone what are we, as concerned parents, going to use for that all important Sex Talk? The birds and The Horses? The birds and the Ferrari F12 berlinetta with its direct-injection 6262 cc 65° V12 engine? Although the Ferrari holds some promise as a suitable replacement for the bees, it still doesn’t have the cache of the birds and the bees. So you can see there is a real problem facing us if we lose our bees.

As to the question, Where are all our bees going, I believe our special team of world-renown, Institute-trained Apiologists, or people who do nothing else in their small, pitiful lives but study bees, talk about bees, photograph bees, look at bees, count bees, worry about bees and countless other bee related activities, have come up with a possible theory. They postulate that the primary reason for bee loss is they get hammered from drinking the nectar of flowers and fall out of the bloom onto the ground where they are promptly eaten by things that eat bees, hence a gone bee. A bee that does not return. A bee that is now for all practical purposes dead.

This is an interesting theory. Nectar has an alcohol content, because of the fermented sugar it contains, that is slightly higher than Everclear or roughly about 800% by volume, and you know that if you have ever been trashed on Everclear you lose many of your primary motor skills and fall down striking your face on the curb chipping both of your front teeth. This also leads to an infraction of California’s Penal code 390D (Drunk, Unconscious) and if you’re really unlucky a 314 (Indecent Exposure) or a 288 (Lewd Conduct) Both of these are bad. Since it can be assumed that you weigh approximately way more than you should and the alcohol effects you in that manner, what does it do to a bee that only weighs like a minus .004% of a gram. They become legless, or in this case wingless, and then the inevitable happens. It’s a major trip down to the waiting open maw of the local bee eating critter. [Who by the way sometimes gets a major buzz going from eating too many bees, but that’s a problem for another time.] And that means one less bee. And that means we are well on our way to becoming bee-less.

When put to the question our nerdful Apiologists stutter and stammer and produce very little in the way of a possible solution. Some of their suggestions suggest that they had been sipping nectar before attending this briefing.  Suggestions like, taping the flowers shut at the peak of the nectar producing season, finding alternate forms of employment for the bees to keep them from doing what Nature intended them to do, forming and requiring attendance at a 12 step program, requiring the bees to buy carbon credits to offset the loss of honey, but as no one in America understands how carbon credits work this is beyond a stupid idea, and finally, locking them in their hives. It is our own personal opinion that we have a long way to go before we can bring closure to this problem.

Right now all we can do is watch and wait. Oh, you can pick up the occasional drunken bee and put it back on the flower but that only compounds the problem. You know what it’s going to do as soon as it regains consciousness. It’s going to hit that nectar again and then you have a 911 problem on your hand. What we do here at The Institute is gather up the ripped little buggers and take then to the bee ward in our dispensary. There they are placed into little bee-sized beds, and  sometimes held down with little restraints to keep their little wings safe. Then they are given fluids and massive dosages of vitamin B-12 and if they recover they’re sent on their way, hopefully with a new understanding of the risks involved in consuming too much nectar. It’s expensive, time-consuming and delicate work but we feel that in doing so we’ve helped Mother Nature and gained like huge karma points. Also we get our pick of the new honey crop. So if you see an unconscious bee or one that is spinning around uncontrollably pick it up and fix it. You’ll be a better person for it.

Slim Picken’s

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The horse herd in Monument Valley never has it very good even when things are at their best. This is dry country. A desert actually and what grows here, grows fast, does it’s thing, then disappears. There are some plants that hang around longer but they’re slim pickings at best. The horses have to cover a lot of ground to get a little bit of food and even farther to find water.

The mares with colts have a particular difficult time as their milk supply is directly connected to how much they eat. A colts appetite doesn’t care how that all works. There just better be milk there when its hungry. And it’s hungry all the time.

These are full-blooded Navajo ponies and are the product of many years of experience living where there are tough conditions. Fending for themselves is ingrained into their nature. They’ll make out just fine. The late afternoon sun is a welcome respite from the heat of the day. This bunch is headed to the shadows below the butte where they’ll rest up and enjoy the relative coolness here in Monument valley.

Considerin’ Slitherin’

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If snakes were people this one would be a combination of Leon Redbone and Tom Waits. Cool, but in a mean, slick kind of way. Somebody you’d like to watch do his thing, but from way across the bar. And the waitresses, the ones that will serve him anyway, they all call him Tongue. Just because. This guy exudes menace like a cheap cologne.

If snakes wore shirts he’d have a straight razor hanging down inside his collar, and you’d want to watch close if he put his hand up to the back of his neck. He isn’t scratching, he’s reaching. Somebody’s going to get cut.

Here in New Orleans, just outside the 9th ward, there’s a bar, the one just off St Claude Ave. The one with the sign that hasn’t had working neon since 1946. The one with the broken juke box they don’t need to fix because there’s a kid there that will sing every blues tune you know for a quarter a throw. The one where if anyone got bit or squeezed real bad no one would say a word, because no one saw a thing. It has a spot at the end of the mahogany that no one will sit at whether he’s there or not. Even the most foolhardy tourist instinctively knows that’s no man’s land. That’s his bar and everybody is ok with that. They don’t go there if they aren’t, it’s bad joss and he can smell that on you.

Lots of snakes have chosen garish multi-colored skins, neon colored, they’d flash Vegas style if they could. But Big Billy Coils, that’s his given name, William Coils, but everyone who knew him by that is pretty much gone now. Victims of fights, booze, unpaid debts, horse, neglect and poor judgment. He’s found the colors that work for him. He’s leaving all the rainbow stuff to the wannabees, this look gets done whatever he wants done. He just stopped in tonight to check out the crowd. He hasn’t eaten in about 3½ weeks and he’s hungry. He’s off towards Algiers to see what might be hanging around the docks so he’s considerin’ slitherin’. I’d put off any late night strolls along the river tonight. Best you stick to the brightly lit streets.

Wind River Reservation

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Fall in the West is a pretty incredible time. We don’t have the magnificent range of colors that occur in the East but what we have is just as gorgeous in its own way. We’re heavy on the golds and yellows with a smattering of deep rusty-red when the scrub oak turns. The grey of the hard rock mountains is a perfect foil for the huge expanses of earth tones in the meadows below.

There is no mistaking Fall out here. Especially if you’re traveling through the Wind River reservation. The light this time of year seems tailor-made for showing off these vistas. There’s a reason you see so many calendar shots of this type of scenery. It’s just flat out beautiful. Subtle colors blend together as if by design. Contrast between the harsh outline of the mountains against the softness of the foreground adds to the pleasure of witnessing these timeless views. The beauty of this land cannot be duplicated. Drive out and see for yourself. The only downside to our color show is that it doesn’t last long enough. But while it does it cannot be surpassed.

Sunset On The Snake

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As we edge on into Fall the rut is starting to gain momentum. All of the large ungulates are undergoing the changes that are needed to compete in the test of supremacy about to start. The elk have already begun their contests and the Mulies are about 7-8 weeks away from early November when they start. Moose are about a month away from their main rut but like everything else in life there are exceptions.

This scene along the Snake river shows a cow moose who is already interested but the bull, which has his back turned to her, is not quite into the season yet. He would probably be a little more so if another bull showed up, but for now he’s saving his energy. The location of this shot is just a short ways down from the Oxbow and its late afternoon in mid-September as the sun goes down.

Up in this part of the country, Grand Teton National Park in Northwestern Wyoming, the colors are in full display. It’s down jacket weather and time has slowed down somewhat. Soon the air will be filled with the bugling of the Elk and the bark or bugle of the Moose as Nature puts on one of her incredible displays of life in the Animal Kingdom.

Finding Scenery

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Many times people come out West looking for something. Usually its scenery, sometimes it’s just a restroom, but mostly it is something cool to look at. Something different from what they see at home every day. However, being new to a place, and a place that has overwhelming scenery everywhere they turn their heads, it all begins to blend in to a flat tapestry of vivid colors and shapes. They often have trouble determining exactly what scenery is and what is the best scenery to look at on their limited budget. It is like walking through a museum in Florence for hours on end that specializes in priceless gold encrusted icons from churches all over the world. Each one a king’s ransom and unique. Suddenly you realize you’ve been staring at the same one for 15 minutes and it no longer registers as anything special. You’ve been velocitized by the art. You’ve seen too much, too quickly. That’s what happens when you don’t pace yourself.

Now that nothing registers as something unique they drive frantically hither and yon, peering out of a bug-smeared windshield, their one sunburned arm resting on the window sill hoping to see that one bit of scenery that will be the highlight of the trip. Because there is so much scenery and all of it spectacular they soon get discouraged and rather listlessly glance out of the car window now and then. They’re in a downward spiral. They need help. Many western states try and assist the gob-smacked tourist, knowing that they’ll soon burn out and take their gold cards home with them if they don’t capture their interest. These people have been stuck in their cars for days, kids screaming, the dog needing to go out every 35 miles, they’re tired, disappointed and frustrated, so the Public Relations folks and the various Merchant associations post roadside signs with arrows pointing at a more significant piece of scenery to view, hoping to stem the exodus of bleary-eyed travelers. But the signs are small and soon blend into the blur along the highway.

Seeing this as a large and costly problem the western states bring out the big guns several times a month. There is a special lighting program available to highlight various scenic areas but it is expensive and can’t be used to light up Uncle Everett’s Skunk Emporium and Waterslide even if Uncle Everett had the money to pay for it which he doesn’t due to some unfortunate accidents in the petting zoo. It has to be saved for the really big stuff. The stuff that still grabs the jaded locals and make them stop in their tracks and remember why they moved here in the first place. You can see it in action over the Tetons. They had it cranked up to maximum on this day, the meter was spinning so fast the meter housing was smoking but it was worth it. It’s kind of like daytime fireworks. The grateful tourists were parked along the highway for miles and miles, some with tears in their eyes, others mouthing silent thanks, a few so awe-struck they were just passed out along the roadside. There is a movement afoot to collect enough funds to make this an on-call program, like during a big weekend. Such as when Jackson hole celebrates National Moustache day. Slow going yet but they’re hopeful. For now just enjoy it when it happens and count yourself lucky to have found some scenery.

The Rut

Yesterday was the official opening of the Rut. As you know, the Rut is where the bulls gather cows together called a harem and battle each other for breeding rights. This goes on for weeks and is the highlight of the Elks life, both cows and bulls. There’s usually a big opening ceremony down on the Madison river with hor’s d’oeuvre, some wine, the boxed kind mostly, there’s a lot of elk here for the opening, and we still haven’t fully recovered from the recession, a big banner across the meadow saying “Welcome back Bulls! Get to it!”. The press is on hand to do a shoot of the prominent bulls, They want to feature who’s the biggest, the baddest, which bull is going to kick the most bull butt, who’s going to collect the most cows. There’s always a breakdown sheet on the individual bulls stats. Who fathered the most calves, what was the bull calf ratio to cow calves born, etc. It’s like Yellowstone does Vegas.

There’s actually a pari-mutuel betting window set up down near 7 mile bridge for those so inclined. Last year their crowd favorite was a bull named Edwin, normally a shy reclusive bull in the off-season but a holy terror during the rut. He’s been ranked 1st with a 71-3-1 record. This year the money’s on a new bull named Thug. ( see image above) There’s not much known about Thug other than the fact that he put his antlers through the door of a Prius and made the driver embarrass himself. The Park staff gave him a written warning, which Thug promptly ate, and told him if he did it again they’d saw his antlers off. That got his attention for a minute. That’s like a death sentence during the Rut. Thug listened but showed no emotion. You’ll hear comments like “Dead bull walking” when he goes by now. It didn’t seem to phase him however as he promptly flipped the hor’s d’oeuvre table over during the weigh-in just to rattle Edwin. This should be a Rut of the century coming up folks.

Normally The Director is on hand to oversee the festivities and act as an unofficial Master of Ceremonies. This year there was a problem getting away from The Institute which can’t really be told in complete detail, but it had to do with our on going Animal Modification program. This is one of our most secret programs, not because it’s illegal, but it is to protect our investment and to keep our procedures under lock and key until we can file the proper patent papers and get everything trademarked. We can’t take the risk of losing the T-Shirt sales and other merchandising items we have planned by letting someone beat us to the punch.

We can relate the situation that occurred without giving away the details on our gene sequencing procedures or our use of a reconstituted and safe red-dye #2, that it was our work with Wolverines that went all over wonky of a sudden yesterday and caused the cancellation of our trip. Our purpose is to modify the Wolverines behavior so they can be sold as house pets. There has been a lot of heat on the puppy-mills lately and we frankly see a huge decline in cute huggable puppies in the not too distant future. That’s where we feel we could really capitalize on our new, gentle, genetically modified and recolored wolverines. With our new breeding programs in place, normally wolverines who are so mean one of them has to die in the mating procedure, can now mate safely, actually enjoying the process rather than ripping each others appendages off. We think we have reduced wolverine meanness to a more manageable level. That’s good as that means baby wolverines by the boatload and that means big bucks.

Briefly, our problem happened as we were loading the research vehicles to leave for the opening ceremonies, one of the interns was throwing a dead moose into their confinement area, the wolverines not the interns confinement area, for their evening meal and did not close the door and activate the remote tracking weapons and all of the wolverines got out of their cage. These were the unmodified wolverines. This created a real bad situation right now, we mean an awful one, and anyone who was caught outside was immediate wolverine food. Fortunately The Director, who is lucky that way was climbing up on the roof of the Mothership, our primary research vessel, and was able to pull the ladder up where he was safe but trapped. Several hours later one of our slow thinking interns remembered the tranquilizer gun and was able to dart two of the guard wolverines that were securing the door of our shed containing our bite proof wolverine recovering proximity suits.

To make a long story longer we got the suits, we rounded up and caught the wolverines, which is a whole battle by itself, and much of what we can’t tell you about, and got the area secured again. By then it was too late to leave and we were all tired so we said to hell with it and went in and had pizza and watched “Yellowstone – Super Volcano – Will it Blow and kill Everything and Everybody All Over the Place ” on TV. For those of you who haven’t seen this documentary, apparently it will. So after some thought we decided to pass on the Rut this year and wait and see if Yellowstone is still there in the Spring. But if you’re not doing anything the Rut goes on for a while and you can take it in. Let us know how it goes.