Yukon Tour 2

     My heart is pounding, my lungs gasping, my legs are burning as I slowly ascend the moderate trail above the Canadian Parks Service visitor center beside the Dempster Highway at Tombstone Park in the Yukon. I was advised by a 20-something, fit looking man that it would take my guests and I about half an hour to reach the top of this trail. What the H... does he know? I was young too, once, and full of hill-climbing vigour and optimism. I still have the optimism.

It Isn't the top of the World, but it is a Significant Victory

     We are a group of four men, two over 60 one just under and one 40 something. I am the tour leader heading towards Inuvik, N.W.T. and beyond. Our common bond is our love of the wild places and wildlife photography.

     We met a few days ago in Whitehorse, Yukon and have a good start on a month long tour of the Yukon Territory, some of British Columbia and ending at Edmonton, Alberta. It is early September and the aspen are brilliantly shrouded in their golden finery and tamarack are beginning their color change. Berry bushes and shrubbery range from brightly crimson to a fine red wine and burgundy colour. It is a great time to visit Yukon; past mosquito and black fly hordes, into bright autumn colours and few tourist clutters.

Moss and Lignon Berries

The further north we go, the less leaves are on the shrubbery. Weather is crisp in the morning, sometimes even frosty but has warmed nicely by early afternoon. There is a fresh dusting of snow above treeline to remind us that it could drop down to highway level any day. We hope for a nice spell of Indian summer.

Begin the Dempster Highway

     This morning, as we begin the Dempster Highway, we decide that a bit of fresh air and exercise will be good for our constitutions after a late night photographing northern lights at Dawson City’s “Midnight Dome.”

Midnight Dome

     We meet two young, Swiss sounding girls coming down the hill. They give us the once-over and cheerfully natter in passing, “15 minutes to go, it is well worth it.” They are being nice to us I’m sure. One half hour later we wheezed and panted to the top.

The Trail Winds Up and Around

     It is pretty good scenery but our biggest victory is that we made it. We made it to the top and back down without having a heart attack or breaking a hip. With a profound sense of accomplishment and relief, we each savour our own victory. As I follow my shadow down the hill I proclaim to it; “We are men, we can still do fun things!”

My Shadow Leads

 

     I bet we enjoyed ourselves more and remember this trail longer than those youngsters who have yet to feel the senses of doubt and fear that we are getting past our prime and will soon be confined to the arm chair in some nursing home with our kids wiping the drool off the corner of our mouths saying. “There, there Dad, you have a good day. I’ll see you next week.”

 

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Yukon Tour 1

     It is great to be alive! Once again, I am privileged to be able to enjoy Mother Nature's great bounty. I left Edmonton and drove to Whitehorse in Yukon Territory over the past two and a half days. Tonight and tomorrow I will meet my guests who will be travelling with me through this spectacularly beautiful land.
     On the 2000 kilometer drive north I enjoy many fantastic sights that make a long journey so enjoyable. Once again I am proving that the destination is not the thing so much as the enjoyment of the journey. I miss many opportunities that time and daylight do not allow more perusal but, I enjoy much.
     Just west of Grande Prairie, Alberta, I come upon a field of sunflowers, something I have never seen before. They are beautiful, especially with the late sun shining through brilliant yellow flowers. It will be very soon that this field will be alive with seed loving birds of all descriptions but for now grasshoppers click and scatter from my footsteps.

Sunflower Field west of Grand Prairie

     As I drive the famous Alaska Highway enjoying the scenery, I think of the hundreds of trips that my Dad made up and down this trail in various trucks. From the dusty, muddy, snow covered and often icy track winding around corners, up and down hills and across narrow bridges in the 1950s through the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, and 1000s; six decades of successfully delivering loads of passengers, freight, fuel and mail. I marvel at the changes this highway has gone through in those years. Look at the lodges and garages, once vital, that are now closed. One of them that he knew well was Summit Lake Lodge, at mile 392, where I worked for a summer in 1970.

Summit Lake Lodge

     It was a happening place back then and I am sad to see it now with broken windows, neglected roofs and smelly, crap covered floors. This place was once someone's pride and dreams. In my mind, I can still hear the juke box crying out the hit song by Doug Kershaw, Diggy Diggy Lie, Diggy Diggy Low, played over and over whenever the waitress got a tip. As I paused, I can hear echos of an old Jake Brake barking as a Canadian Freightways truck rumbled around the corner, thundering past the old shop, chased by a cloud of dust around the lower corner and out of sight and soon, sound. The highway is now paved and straightened, not nearly as challenging as it once was. Today, the trucks are also much more powerful, comfortable and capable of pulling urgent loads of freight to the north country and back.
     I drive through a recent burn where I can still smell freshly burned wood and duff. Several miles burned off, renewing the forest landscape. The whole forest I drove through has, at one time or another, been burned off and rejuvenated into diverse habitat for flora and fauna. It is beautiful now, in a harsh way.

Fresh Forest Burn

     I enjoy seeing caribou, moose and bison along the road in many places. It reminds me to slow down and pay attention to the road, especially at night. Wildlife can be everywhere.

     Autumn has arrived, more brilliant as I travel north. Golden aspen, crimson fireweed, muted in places by furry seeds, dark red shrubbery and the many greens of sunny or shaded coniferous forest lining the mountain sides and river valleys.

Autumn Colors Sept. 3/ 2015

     I pause at the Tlingit village of Teslin on the 70 mile long lake of the same name. Pulled up on the sandy shoreline are two native canoes, not carved from a tree, but rather, made of lighter fiberglass. A carved one sits on display in the nearby boat shed.

      I enjoy talking to the native museum receptionist who is trying her best to celebrate and honor the Tlingit way of life but cannot do so because of the lost salmon run. Over fishing has reduced the numbers of salmon that survive the arduous journey up the Yukon River to their lake where they traditionally had plenty of salmon to preserve. Now they must purchase fish from neighbors near Atlin. I find it sad to see a way of life lost with little hope.

Cow Moose Grazing

I look forward to the next three weeks in this magnificent land. It is so much.

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The Churchill Maternity Ward

     For the past two months I have been privileged to work at Churchill, Manitoba. As I wander around this seemingly desolate and chilly place, I notice an amazing array of new life happening. Babies are emerging from their dens, nests, gravel bars and the deep, cold waters. Doting and protective parents are busy sheparding, feeding, protecting and teaching helpless youngsters. These youngsters come in all sizes, shapes and colours. They are tiny to large; some cute, some "cuteugly", the kind that only a mother could love and protect.
     Regardless, all have to mature quickly in preparation for approaching harsh winter. Most will take on the winter challenge by migrating various distances.
     I have been watching an Arctic Tern family brood their egg on the gravel slope of an abandoned railway road beside one of thousands of ponds in the region. I found the nest by walking too near and being viciously attacked by two angry adult terns, then the whole tern neighbourhood turned up to chase me off. My hat protected my head but droplets of blood appeared on my camera trigger-finger. Pretty intense for a few moments for all of us. Over the next couple weeks I watched from a respectful distance to finally witness the hatchling hiding amongst sparse grass dependant upon grey spotted camouflage and very excitable parents to protect it from predators such as wandering humans, dogs, gulls, ravens and foxes.

Arctic Tern with Hungry Baby

   It made it out to a flat rock surrounded by water which lessened the danger by about half. I wonder if it swam or was carried out by a parent?

Arctic Tern with Capelin

     While perched on this barren rock for the next couple weeks, both parents hauled fish after fish to the ever hungry little bird. They coaxed it to eat, they oriented the fish to the correct head-first swallowing position, I watched daily to see any progress knowing that time is running short.

Arctic Tern Feeding Baby

For some time, it did not seem to be advancing but then I saw new feathers emerging rather quickly, flight feathers and adult looking plumage now adorns the baby. Mom and Dad are now trying to teach it to fly and catch its own food. By early September, the tern family will begin the longest migration of all wildlife on earth. They will fly a convoluted route to Antarctica, a distance of some 30,000 kilometers.  I think it will make it. Isn't Mother Nature amazing?

Cuteugly Gull Babies

     This tern family is not alone in the two acre pond. Herring gulls have hatched their fuzzy chicks and they are growing rapidly. Green-winged teal babies are scurrying everywhere, How do they know to dabble rather than dive?

Protective Herring Gull

     Phalaropes, and shorebirds bob rapidly for hidden meaty treasures along the muddy shoreline. Canada Geese herd their families over grassy taiga while Sandhill Cranes peck dropped grain from the railroad track bed. Snow geese have now began to drop onto the mudflats of the inter-tidal zone of the Churchill River estuary along with thousands of Canada geese. There is the worry that geese are eating themselves out of house and home in the north, damaging their own habitat to the point that many will starve to death.
     Tundra swans and their four cygnets have been seen on one of the many ponds near town. Warblers, swallows and sparrows wage a losing battle at mosquito population control.

Tundra Swan Family

     In the river estuary, thousands of Beluga whales have had and are raising their grey coloured babies where the water is warmer than in the open Bay. They are also here to feed upon spawning Capelin, a skinny, sardine sized fish. The baby whale is about five or six feet long and weighs around 150 pounds when born.

Beluga Whales

     Also wandering around the town fringes are polar bears with their youngsters never far from mother's protection. The cubs were born in late November and have already made their first trip out onto the ice. Now they lounge around the beach feeding off mother bears rich milk gleaned from her fat reserves until they can head back to the ice in October or November to catch seals.

Nursing Polar Bear

     The northern regions of Canada are a giant maternity ward. Millions of birds fly here to raise new families annually. If I was a bird, why would I fly all this way when I could raise a family in southern Canada instead? Apparently their success ratio of raising young is much higher in the north due to fewer predators.
     What a fantastic world Mother Nature has designed.
    


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Our Little Lake

Grebe Babies and the Pelican
     A few weeks ago, I noticed a nest made up of mud, sticks, grass and garbage settled by an obviously incubating Red-necked Grebe. Its mate paddled, dove and groomed in the small pond nearby. The nest was partially screened by a clump of over-hanging willows so I had to very cautiously approach along the pond bank. I was concentrating on the body language of the grebe so closely that I almost stepped on a Canada goose nestled onto her own downy nest. After apologizing profusely to the agitated goose, I stepped back and settled down to watch both setters for a few minutes. I was unable to tell if either incubator were male or female by looking. After a while the grebes gingerly changed places, after a raucous discussion, I assume about equalized parenting duties.     

Dinner is Served

     I watched both nests for the next few weeks with little change. One morning the goose was gone leaving only the feather lined nest. I never did see any goose family here. The grebes continued to set until on the 2^nd of June, there was a distinct rustling under the wings of a protective setter. The swimming grebe seemed to be unusually aggressive towards my approach too, so I settled down in my usual spot, but now the stinging nettles had emerged. I noticed too late to prevent a stinging reminder on my exposed hands and wrist. It wasn't too long until a tiny head poked out into the sunshine from beneath protective parent wings. A tiny body with black with white spots and a stubby little beak searched for a meaty meal from a swimming parent. It was only a moment before it was rewarded. Two other similarly dressed chicks also clambered their way into the open in hopes of a meal. The grebe whose job it was to gather and feed the clan got right to work; diving, gathering, swimming and feeding, back and forth while the setter watched calmly. For an hour or more, I watched this family dynamic until, with another vocal discussion about parenting, the adults switched places.
     The grebes ate mainly small fish, minnows about an inch or two long. I was not sure that the little guys could swallow them, but down the hatch they went. I watched for two hours one morning and the fishing parent had very little time to groom itself. Back and forth it swam and dove for fishy meals. I noticed that the new nest keeper was very restless and had a hard time getting comfortable. It stood up and circled, dog-like, trying to find a good position whilst not stepping upon a chick. Every time it stood, the chicks would slide down its back tumbling in complete disarray to the nest. One even got dumped into the water where it naturally took to instantly. After a couple of circles, it managed to scramble back into the nest, then into the comforting warm embrace of parent wings.

Beakful 

     As I sat enjoying the grebe family, an American Pelican paddled along the opposite shoreline, also scooping up beakfuls of tiny fish.

Gottcha

 I’m always reminded of the limerick by Dixon Lanier Merritt when I see these giant white birds:

A wonderful bird is the pelican

His bill will hold more than his belican

He can take in his beak

Enough food for a week

But I’m dammed if I can see

How the hellhecan.

Running Liftoff

     The black tipped wings with orange colored bill and feet seem to highlight the brilliant white plumage of this big bird. They are very graceful swimmers and fliers but seem quite ungainly while walking on the beach. It does take several feet to lift off the water on large powerful wings but once free of the water seem to be quite effortless in flight. I have most often seen pelicans in groups rather than single birds like this one.

     This little lake is a drain-water pond that accepts rain runoff from Sherwood Park. The water level  fluctuates with the weather. It has become very valuable habitat for many creatures residing in the city. I have seen and heard coyotes and red fox as well as several species of birds. The bushes and water provide welcome places for kids and adults of all ages to enjoy a wee bit of nature in the city.

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Wild/Feral Horses Visit

     There they stood, far across a valley in a yonder opening, four, that I could see, beautifully coloured horses, peacefully grazing against a cutblock-scarred back drop. I had just attempted an approach to a larger band of horses with foals at side but they were off and running into tall timber and over yon ridge before I barely got started up the hill.

Wary Horses

I sat down and glassed the countryside with my binoculars and spotted the remote band. Two were white bodied with dark black manes and tails connected to brown heads. One was dark brown and the other was a dark grey, almost black from where I sat.
     I carefully mapped out my route and began the stalk. I wear camoflage-coloured clothing and carry my Nikon camera and a small backpack with a few essentials with which I am sure I can survive a couple of nights out if required in an emergency situation. The valley I have to cross does not look too bad from where I sit, but once on the trail, it becomes steeper and longer. I wonder if it is a bit beyond my physical abilities but forge ahead anyways. The anticipation and excitement of the stalk and hopes of seeing these four at close range encourages me onward. There is also a pole corral over there that I would like to look over to see if it is still being used as a horse trapping pen.
     After crossing the ankle deep, clear flowing stream I make my way up the hill and into a cutblock alive with pine seedlings and fresh growing grass. The block has been replanted, probably four or five years ago. I follow a restored road into the fringe of a second block where I am expecting to see the grazing horses, hopefully before they spot me.
     There they stand, heads down, munching on fresh green grass in a shallow swale dotted with belly-high willows and scattered black spruce. I approach from behind the trees, quietly and slowly, moving only when all four heads were down.

Itch to Scratch

     One of the white horses lays down and rolls in a well used wallow, then gets up and shakes or rather, shivers, like horses do. I think they are going to continue to approach my position but they turn off and head away slowly. After they move up behind another clump of mixed conifer, I hurry forward as best I can and manage to get within about 50 yards, where I snap a few photos. They move along slowly, secure in their senses that all is safe. The wind is in my favour, the sun is at my back so all is right for my stalk. As they continue to graze away from me I continue my approach, slowly and cautiously out into the open, maintaining my distance.

Master Stallion With His Band

      The dark stallion finally notices me. He is visibly shocked that I have been able to get so close. "Where did you come from'" is his sudden expression of alarm and warning to his girls. He runs directly toward me, ears forward, eyes locked long mane and forelocks flying in disarray. Magnificent was all I can say to myself as he prances and circles. He stops while his girls prance off to stand on a ridge about 75 yards away. What a pleasure for me, what a memorable sight to see. We all stand still, analysing each other before he steps off, herding the girls back a few more yards. He always stands to one side but in position of defence if required.

Herd Master

     We jockey back and forth for a couple hours. I sit down on a stump, he edges nearer. I move sideways, hoping for a different background while they watch. After getting several photos, I decide to leave the horses in peace and check out the old corral then make my way back to my vehicle.
     I thank my wild acquaintances and head back, pausing at the old wooden corral. It was no longer in use and in a state of disrepair so I am happy to leave it and begin the long hike back to my vehicle.
     I am about half way up the other side of the valley when I hear the bark of a motorcycle from back where I had come from. I sit down in a bit of a clearing to allow my pounding heart to calm and glass the area the bike is coming from. Suddenly, my band of horses appear along a pipeline, maybe half a mile from where I had left them. The  snorting, barking motorcycle appears heading toward the horses. The band takes off with the bike behind. The bike is not pressing hard, but still hard enough to give the wildies a frightened run. They all disappear from my view but the sound of the bike echos without pause, over the hills for a few more moments.

Dirt Bike Harassment and Old Trap Corral

     The harassment these horses are getting is not fair to them. This past winter, several were rounded up, sanctioned by our Alberta Environment watchdogs. There are many more rumoured instances of horses being harassed by many other users of this wild country as well, and now, I have actually seen it myself. Perhaps I am also an unwelcome guest in their home pasture as evidenced by the fear of the first band that vanished at my approach. They will move off as every vehicle encroaches into their comfort zone, probably because of the actions of a few people when they think nobody is watching.       Perhaps, in my quiet approach, I am helping to train the wild horses to trust all people. They may become too trusting, to their peril. Is my curiosity and wish to publicize the plight endangering the wild horses and threatening their freedom or indeed, their very survival.
     I do intend to try to visit the wildies once in a while and take a few guests out as well. I will continue to document what I see. I will continue to spend time with these beautiful, wild or feral horses, or whatever we want to label them. They are magnificent testament to survival in this resource ravaged environment, marred by massive cut blocks, oil leases and pipelines, gravel pits and cattle grazing leases. I, for one, say, "let them wander."

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Lest Us Not Forget

     I just finished my little part in helping one of my mother's shirt-tailed relatives compile their Campbell family history. They started their story in the mid 1880s and we worked our way through four generations of adventurers beginning as Scotch Irishmen immigrating to Ontario then to South Dakota and finally settling in the Wetaskiwin/Camrose area of central Alberta. What a tale of adventure, hardships, determination and devoted family. Theirs is not an uncommon tale of the settlement of Western Canada and USA. Thousands of immigrant people migrated from Europe full of optimism and dreams of a better life with free land of milk and honey.
     My own family were another of the migrants to Alberta from Europe a generation later than the Campbell's so they ended up further north in 1927.
     What I learned and was reminded of from doing these stories and talking to these people, now in their 80s and 90s, who know and lived some of the stories, is that they were also once filled with dreams and optimism. Doris and Tom are now blind and inflicted with terrible dementia respectively. They live in a beautiful care home for seniors here in Edmonton. As I read their stories and looked at old family photos I could not help but remind myself that these elderly people were once determined to  leave their mark on the world. They were somebody's children who went to school, they milked the cows and fed the pigs everyday before and after school. They planted gardens, picked roots and rocks and rode horses and sewed their crops with the eternal optimism of all farmers. They worked hard from sunup to sunset and longer. Frost, hail, drought, cold and snow challenged them every year. They were loved and loved back. They courted the pretty girls and young men. They married and made babies, lots of babies. They worked hard to raise these babies in dugouts, soddies and small log houses until they could finally build new homes of lumber and as times progressed they enjoyed the luxuries of electricity, telephones and later natural gas and television.
     This story reminds me of my own relatives who are now struggling with the ravages of age and disease.  I think of the times my Dad lived and worked through to provide for his family, now worried about his cancer battle. My mother-in-law sits by herself in her tiny room in the old folks home waiting for the next meal or the next visitor. My mother struggles with loss of independance and fear of leaving her own home to the care home. She slowly goes through prized poesessions valuable to few but herself. I think of my aunt who has struggled for years with Parkinson's then cancer which maimed her body and now dementia slowly taking over her brain all to the dismay of her devoted husband and kids. She is only a few years older than I am so I well remember when she was young, vibrant and very good looking. She and Uncle loved to party and laugh and they struggled to maintain the family farm while raising four kids and a grand daughter. They volunteered and helped to show the way for hundreds of young kids who attended their bible camp. They have placed their struggles in the hands of their Lord for the past several years. We all wonder at the challenges He has asked of them.
     I am just hoping that we do not overlook these elderly people who struggle with the last few years of their lives. Let's not forget their contributions to this country and their own families. Let's not get too impatient with their weakness and instead remember that they once helped us out when we were small and frail. The circle of life is happening, and they are coming full circle. Now it is our turn to be strong and compassionate.

Election Day Coming

     Every four years or so the public at large gets to have some say in who will be our provincial government leaders. May 5/ 2015 is the day for us to vote for our candidate selection based upon our own hopes and desires. For myself, the environment is a main consideration. I don't know if the provincial government can do much about oil prices and the gouging that the oil companies are doing to us at the pumps. I don't know if they can do much about the numbers of dead and missing women in this country. We will wait for the expected national vote to address these issues along with the federal environmental mismanagement.
     Here in Alberta, the provincial conservatives choose not to follow their own guidelines to stop any further encroachment into valuable caribou habitat required to try to maintain an undisturbed land base required for the woodland caribou to thrive and maintain a viable population. Instead, they choose helicopter gunships, snaring and poisons to be used to hunt down and exterminate wolves that have traditionally co-habitated with caribou for centuries. Along with the dead wolves are numerous by-catch that is also killed off by the poisons such as wolverine, scavenging birds, coyotes, lynx, black and grizzly bears as well as intentionally shot ungulates that are used as poison laced bait. Oil and gas exploration, pipelines, roads and cut blocks are all depleting and opening up the remote old growth timber lands where the caribou live. Other ungulates such as moose, elk and deer move into the logged off cut blocks and road fringes feeding upon the new deciduous tree growth while bringing with them the predatory wolves doing what wolves do naturally. Unfortunately for caribou, they are easier to catch and kill than moose or elk. Black bears also move into these newly exposed areas which bring them closer to where caribou are found. Now the black bears have learned to catch and eat caribou calves so we have made it even more difficult for caribou to survive. I will guess we will now start poisoning and shooting black bears.
     The next issue that I hate to see is the round up of the feral horses in western Alberta. These horses are ancestors of horses turned loose from abandoned and closed down coal mines, logging operations, homesteaders and outfitters as well as Indian ponies that have wandered off. They have lived here for more than 100 years. I have travelled to the eastern slopes region west of Sundre, north of Cochrane around the Mountainaire Lodge region to spend time with the wild horses. I am not much of a horse person but I truly do like to spend time with these wild horses. I guess I admire their stamina and recognise the challenges they live with in this rugged landscape. They seem to fit into this land very well. The wildies feed on grasses that grow on newly exposed cutblocks, roadsides and in river and creek valleys. They paw through deep snow to expose grass during the winter months. There are not great numbers of them scattered in small bands across hundreds of thousands of acres of wildland. Generally accepted numbers show about 800 horses scattered in bands ranging in size from two or three to more commonly eight or ten to less than twenty animals led by a stallion with his mares, colts and young studs.

Feral Horses Grazing in Cutblock

     This year, as in others, the government led by the ESRD ( Environment and Sustainable Resources Development) division, rounded up several bands and shipped them off to auction to be sold off to private investors or slaughter for profit. After a huge donnybrook last season where several people protesting the horse capture were arrested and charged with interfering with the capture, the ESRD used a contractor to try to trap and round up the horses. These guys were using questionable methods of chasing horses through cutblocks and try to rope them along with baited traps. They were not concerned about the welfare of pregnant mares, horse family dynamics or possible injury to wild horses or their own stock. Some of the illegal and immoral methods were filmed by dedicated horse watchers and photographers. The ESRD have not said anything about numbers of horses rounded up or living on the wild range.

ATV Damages To Hillside

     In my travels I have seen many different users of this region that are not very friendly to the land. Huge cut blocks, by huge I mean greater than section size, 500 acres and larger. We used to consider 1/4 section, or 160 acres to be large cut blocks. I saw areas where ATVs, (all terrain vehicles) have torn deep ruts up hillsides and through bogs causing erosion and sediment to enter sensitive creeks and streams, home to endangered Bull Trout. Gravel pits, roads and wash outs as well as tremendous damage caused by the flood of 2013 all seem to me to be of greater concern than a few wild horses.
      There is also the concerns of cattlemen who graze their cattle on grazing reserves in this area. I don't understand where the boundaries of these grazing reserves are as there are few fences. There are several Texas gates along the Forestry Trunk Road with no fences connecting them to any kind of border line. There is often a bit of barbed wire winding a few feet through the ditch into the bush but it would be ineffective at keeping anything but a wandering photographer at bay. They are not maintained in any way. I assume then that the cattle can wander the countryside free range. I was there in Late November last year and found a few cattle still wandering along the roadside looking for grass and seemed to hope I was there to take them home to the comfort of the barnyard. The ranchers are apparently concerned that the horses are eating grass that their cattle should have.

Eating on Exposed Hillsides

Eating Grass on Road Right-of-ways

     There are other environmental issues that we have to contend with. I recall our premier, Jim Prentice bragging about Alberta's environmental record while making a speech in the USA to supporters of the Gateway Pipeline. I disagree after hearing about oil spills, seeing mountains moved for coal, land base opened with little regard for the wildlife, and valuable farmland being paved over for building cities and industrial plants. I do realise that we cannot totally halt progress and industry, but do we need to do it all right now? Can we not reclaim some of the destroyed land base before proceeding with new development? Is there going to be anything left for our children and grand kids? We have seen man's destructive practises in other countries so can we not use them as warnings to our own mad rush to extract every dollar from the ground immediately?
     I will be asking questions of the other political parties as I have asked of the present governors. I hope to get better responses than the form letters I have had in the past.

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