Reports of My Demise are Only Slightly Exaggerated

 

Well, it finally happened.   I got myself into a dangerous situation today while picking up litter along the Seward highway.   First time in 17 years.

 

Mark Twain is quoted as saying, “Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated,” or variations thereof.  My situation today was serious and could have turned for the worse.

 

People who know me well know that I tend to dismiss any danger to myself when I’m in familiar surroundings.   (That does not apply to bull elephants in musth in Africa. They scare the bejeebers out of me.)

 

Things litter were proceeding well and I was having a great time along Lower Summit Lake.  My troublesome back was behaving itself.   I felt great.   I’d cleaned a third of a mile already, and was half way through cleaning a second third of a mile and heading in the direction of my truck.   I wasn’t wearing ear plugs and I could hear warblers in the willows.   I even spotted a couple of the tiny orange crowned warblers.

 

Now in the home stretch for the day, I spotted a small piece of white plastic hanging on a willow branch and headed down a 12-foot steep embankment to get it.   It was wet down there, but I took my time stepping from grassy clump to grassy clump and before I could stop myself, I was in water over my boots.

 

Oh, well.   I’m already wet and that plastic is almost within reach.   With the next step, my left leg plunged down, down, down and I could not pull it out.   It was stuck fast in deep mud. And I was in water over my knee.

Can you see the tiny bit of white plastic on the willow branch?   Look down from the right side of the spruce tree.

 

Now what?   I tried wiggling the boot to free it.   Nothing doing.   It would not turn at all.  My right leg was free but of no use at all.  

 

Okay, I’m stuck.   When in quicksand, lie down and distribute your body mass.   The only way I could go was onto my back because I was already sitting.   Now I was wet and getting cold.  The water wasn’t icy cold, but cold enough and I was now wet to my neck except for my left shoulder.

 

I had to take frequent rests from the struggling.  I tried to flag down traffic that was going past at 65 mph, but there was little chance of anyone seeing me down there in my faded Carhartt jacket, and no one did.   My bright safety vest was almost invisible because I was nearly flat on my back.

 

I thought about getting a yellow litter bag out of my back pack, inserting my grab stick into it, and waving that in the air to increase my visibility.  All things considered, I absolutely couldn’t.  I was lying on the pack and my right arm was supporting me enough to keep the back of my head out of the water.

I was astonished at how little mobility I had, not to mention that there was no solid ground within reach.

A view of where I got stuck and all the area where I struggled for a long time to stand upright.  The large dark spot of water--the white plastic is above to the right--is where I got stuck.   All the water and trampled grass is the area I needed to get myself out of that mess.

 

 

So this is what it’s like, I thought.   At least I wasn’t stuck in the mud and clay of Turnagain Arm or Cook Inlet and didn’t have to worry about the tide coming in.  That happened a couple weeks ago to a young fellow who perished.

 

I thought about the life-saving measures the Girdwood Fire and EMS uses to free people who get stuck in the mud/clay flats.   They jet water down where someone’s feet are stuck and loosen the deathly grip.   Maybe, I thought, maybe if I stick my free right foot down alongside the stuck foot, I can create enough dilution of the mud to give me a chance.   So, I did, fully aware that I might get both feet stuck.

 

With a lot of squirming and pulling on my left leg, eventually the grip on the foot loosened.   More tugging and squirming and finally I was able to move my stuck foot a bit, not up and out of danger, but a little side to side.  I kept working at it.

 

Side to side, kicking with my right foot.   On and on.   Slowly, slowly the left foot emerged from the mud and water.   The boot had four inches of wet mud on top when I finally got it free.

 

But, I was still in trouble.   And getting cold.  I managed to roll onto my right side and tried to sit up.  I didn’t have the strength.  I had the litter bag with some stuff in it.   One of those things was a short red wooden handle like a paint roller extension.  I grabbed it and set it on top of the litter bag which gave me enough area of support to roll and twist and, with pulling on the short grass with my other arm, VIOLA, I was sitting up.

Plastic, stuck spot, trampled grass , and finally standing up where the litter bag is.

 

Sitting but still unable to kneel or stand because my butt was lower than my boots.  Here goes, I thought, and “walked” on my butt cheeks to a spot where there was some grass in not-so-deep water. 

 

That worked!   More rests, more struggles, and finally I was able to stand up.  All in all, I was in trouble at least 30 minute and probably closer to 45 or 60 minutes.

 

Through all of this, I never once thought about using my phone to call for help.   Summit Lake Lodge was just up the hill a mile away.  In reality, I probably wouldn’t have any reception down in that hole anyway.

 

Everything on me was dripping water.   My boots, jacket, and pack weighed a ton.   My jeans were so wet and heavy they were down around my hips and I couldn’t pull them up.

 

I walked back to my truck, stumbling occasionally but not falling.   And yes, I continued to pick up litter, but I noticed I was having trouble holding onto things.  Plus my glasses were dirty and that made visibility difficult.

 

Once in my truck, I turned the heat up to extreme incinerate and the fan to hurricane force.    This Dodge Dakota has the best heater of any vehicle I’ve owned.

 

Now I’m home.   I stripped in the 60 degree garage and got the laundry is going, and I rinsed my gloves and pack and they are hanging to dry.   I also rinsed out my boots and struck them on a brand new boot dryer.    The dryer doesn’t work.   I’m going to borrow Julie’s boot dryer tomorrow.

 

The laundry room is a mess of mud and water.   I’ll deal with it tomorrow.   MY favorite pocket camera is sitting on some rice in a baggie.   It, too  got wet.

 

I went upstairs wearing only my glasses and my Fitbit.   I wondered if Fitbit gave me credit for all the struggling I did but, apparently, because one foot wasn’t moving, it didn’t. 

 

Even after a long hot shower, I was chilled, so I sat down in front of an electric heater with a big mug of hot chocolate and tried to warm up.   It’s working, but I’m still thinking how badly this might have turned out had I not been able to free myself and instead laid there all night in that cold water.

 

 

 

 

This photo, looking away from there I was,  doesn't do justice to how invisible I must have been to traffic passing by.   The embankment is starting to level out here.  It was much steeper where I was.   There is no reason for people to look down at me struggling in the water.

 

I know. I'm AWOL.

 Yes, I know it's been a long time since I posted the last chapter of the Africa. Journals.    I have most of the photos ready and am just waiting for an opportune time to complete them with one last post.   That means a very rainy day when I am confined to the house.

This is a quickly assembled post and there might be typos and auto-correct blunders in it.   I'll fix them later.

In the meantime, I've been busy cleaning up litter along the Seward Highway.   So far, 5-1/2 miles.   I've also found three golf balls and a shredded dollar bill.

I've also been giddy about the migratory birds returning to Alaska.   Here are a few photos.

This is an American dipper, formerly called a water ouzel, which is a much cooler name.   It has a billful of bugs and is flying to the nest.   Hard to believe they have hatchlings already.   It is my favorite Alaska bird.,

I took a photo of this Barrow's goldeneye for ID purposes.    It was really a long way away but when I saw the reflections in the water of the nearby shoreline brush, I settled down and made a picture.

The red-necked grebes have a nest that is close enough to the highway that I can see it while driving past.    This day, I saw an egg in it that looked as large as a gold ball.   These are small birds to lay such huge eggs.

Here are the two grebes with two eggs.    They are such good parents.   Each grebe takes turns incubating the eggs and tending to the young.   I love watching them.

I have also had a prolonged episode of carpet shampooing.    My old carpet machine was giving me fits.   It works, but leaves the carpet with a brownish tinge.    I bought bottled water, thinking is was my well water.   That helped, but not much.

No, my carpet wasn't this dirty.   The photo shows the tinge the old carpet machine left and the lighter spot is after cleaning it with a new machine.

I discovered the brushes weren't turning, so I ordered a new belt and removed 18 screws to change the belt when it arrived after two weeks.    After I re-assembled it, I only had one screw leftover.   Not much improvement.

So, I made a quick 200 mile trip to the nearest Home Depot and bought a new machine.

BINGO!

Dining room furniture and the Dreadmill (aka treadmill) moved into the living room so I can clean the DR.    The LR is done and dry.

More furniture moved.

CLeaning in process.   See the brown "old cleaned spot?"

I was so pleased with the results, I cleaned every ACRE of carpet in the whole house

Coming up, another activity to keep me busy.   I have several cords of firewood to split, load, and stack.

I actually like doing this chore.

Keep checking in.   I'll be back someday.

The 2022 Africa Journal's, Chapter 36: The Orphans

 Chapter 36:

The Orphans

"The only good cage is an empty cage."

--Lawrence Anthony, The Elephant Whisperer

I adopted an orphan today.    It was a spur of the moment decision.

I mean, we, as a group, toured an orphanage in Nairobi and I fell in love with all those sweet little faces.   I selected the smallest, the newest, the youngest.

What was I thinking?   How am I going to get her home?   Think of all the arrangements I'd have to make.

Besides, I'd have to fight my friend Jason Fernandes for custody.

Here's my baby:     Her name is Nayambeni.

Here's Jason with "our" baby.   Can you see how much he loves her.   Can you imagine what a custody battle that would be?

Jason would probably win.   He's probably got quite a track record with the orphanage already.   Besides, he lives in India and he could smuggle Nyambeni overland.

Me?   She definitely won't fit in my luggage.   And even thought my status with Alaska Airlines allows me two free checked bags, I think and elephant in my luggage would be pushing things.

Ah, well.   It's all a pipe dream anyway.   He current keepers wouldn't part with her.

Jason, by the way, owns and operates Wilderness Uncut with his partner.   They arrange safaris in Africa and India.   I have traveled with him two or three times.

The orphanage in Nairobi is owned and operated by the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust.  It has a long history of aiding wildlife, including rescuing elephants orphaned by a mother's death, by abandonment, by human-wildlife conflicts.   A myriad of circumstances cause an elephant baby to be orphaned.

Animals in the wild benefit from the trust's activities in providing veterinary services.   They patch up wounded lions and other animals, removes snares, spears, arrows, etc.

The men in the green smocks are keepers at the elephant orphanage.   The wheelbarrows are full of bottles of a special milk supplement developed by Dame Daphne Sheldrick.

I could go into pages and pages of the origins of the Sheldrick Trust and the many good things it does, but you can Google it and read it online.

We were there for a private visitation of the orphans and right now they are hurrying down the path through the forest to get their bottles.   Usually the orphanage is open to the public for only an hour a day, with visitors standing on a raised rock platform.  By selecting and paying for a private visit, we get to be right down in the dirt with them.   And touch them.

Keepers waiting with wheelbarrows full of milk bottles.

And here they come.

The greens on the ground don't grow there.   The keepers cut them for the ellies.

The keepers hold the bottles but some ellies have gained enough mastery of the some 40,000 muscles in their trunks that they can hold the bottles by themselves.

Absolutely blessed.

The rock pavilion is where the crowds of guests stand when they come to the daily viewing.   It's for an hour.  We paid extra for a private viewing and walked among the elephants.   I set my camera down on the platform and an Ellie made right for it.   One of the keepers rescued it before it became an elephant toy.

The rock wall makes a good scratching place.

When the weather is hot, the ellies will wade into the water and splash around.   Then, they throw dirt all over themselves.  This is to protect their hides from sunburn and insects and it also cools them.

Your thought elephants were gray, didn't you?   Well, they are.   Because elephants roll in or cover themselves with dirt, they take on the color of that dirt.   Due to the iron oxides in much of  Kenya, the dirt is reddish.

Thisi Ellie is smelling Shelly's feet.   They are so observant.   This one recognized something different about her footwear.

This is a video of  ellies I took a couple years ago when they were playing in the water.   There is fresh water for drinking in the tub.  If any of the babies are wearing blankets, they are part of the "blanket brigade" --those babies that need a bit of extra warmth.  

Each Ellie has its own bedroom, or stable.   It's complete with nice soft straw,  some lucerne (alfalfa), and a keeper who stays with the younger ones all night to make sure they get their milk every four hours and are comforted by the company.   The keeper has a bunk where he can rest.

This is Maxwell, a black rhino who was abandoned shortly after his birth because he is blind.   You can touch him!   He's very much a part of the ellie orphanage.   Every morning when the elephants are let out of their "bedrooms" they walk by Maxwell's digs to say good morning.   Sometimes they touch him or drape their trunks on him.

Randy, right, and Jason with Maxwell.

Maxwell

It costs $50 to adopt an elephant orphan.   WIth that, you receive a monthly newsletter by e-mail with photos, videos, keepers diaries, and special notes on your baby.   Plus a sweet watercolor that you can download.

Watercolor by Angela Sheldrick.

You will hear of new rescues, something that is occurring a lot due to the severe drought in Kenya.  You will learn how the elephants form their own mini-herds and learn behaviors for the future.

Here is one paragraph from a longer report from the keepers's diaries about my baby:  Returning to the mud bath mid-morning, the first group of younger orphans downed their bottles of milk and tiptoed over the slippery ground to have a dip in the mud bath. The edge was too slippery for walking, but this did not pose a problem for the babies as it was perfect for sliding. Nyambeni was the first to slide on her belly into the muddy water, little legs out to the side and trunk aloft. 

These elephants are NOT bound for zoos or game farms.   At a certain age, they will be transported to one of several  "reintegration" sites that the trust runs.   There they will have the opportunity to interact with wild elephants and eventually return to the wild themselves.

The real joy is when a reintegrated female returns to show the keepers her new calf.

 This is a report about one elephant who went AWOL for a few days and  then returned to the reintegration site and eventually gave birth:

However, there was one hiccup in Murera’s entree into motherhood. Perhaps because of the hip and leg injuries she sustained as a calf, she found it difficult to stand still and in the proper position for baby Mwana to suckle. The first days are pivotal for any newborn elephant, and the Keepers worried that her daughter was not getting the all-important colostrum and milk she needed to thrive. So, they stepped in and began milking Murera, then bottle-feeding Mwana. In an incredible display of trust, Murera accepted these measures without any reservations.

This continued, night and day, for more than a week.Then, on the 11th day, we finally had a breakthrough. Without preamble, Murera propped her leg forward and allowed Mwana to suckle. From that moment forward, she nursed her like an old pro. Again, the Keepers were so very proud of their matriarch.

Currently, the Nairobi site has 30 Ellies and there are 120 keeper-dependent elephants at their five other reintegration sites, plus another black rhino, a giraffe, some antelope, etc.

Here's a link to my baby's story:    https://www.sheldrickwildlifetrust.org/orphans?q%5Bspecies.slug%5D=&q%5Bage%5D=&q%5Bgender%5D=&q%5Brescued.environ%5D=&q%5Blocation.slug%5D=&q%5Bname%5D=Nyambeni&filter_grid=2&q%5Balive%5D=true#orphan_search

Thus far, Sheldrick Wildlife trust has successfully raised 316 orphaned elephants, attended 10,473 veterinary cases, and supports 25 anti-poaching teams.

One of the sites is caring for an orphaned giraffe named Twiggy.

It is such a worthwhile cause and you can give an adoption to someone as a gift.   No extra baggage allowance required.

Pale flycatcher.   A bird that was perched on one of the posts at the orphanage.