Where Do You Go If Your Compass Won't Stop Spinning?

© 2008, 2009, 2010 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
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"I don’t know how long it will be before everything is back to its normal, everyday, chaotic way."

Gosh, I’m tired.

It seems that no matter how much or how little sleep I get, I am just flat out tired. Anybody else feeling it? I’ve seen it out there, a general weariness that just doesn’t seem to leave the people. You can see it in their slumped shoulders, tired eyes, labored walking, and listlessness. I’m not that bad, but still, I’m tired.

I suppose I should explain my over extended hiatus. Many of you have dropped me a note or two asking me where I’ve been, what I’m up to, or if I’m dead. I have answered and promised I would be back in nothing flat, but as you all can see, nothing of the sort has happened. Though I have had every intention of getting right back to writing, it seems that nature and the gods themselves have conspired against me.

Or maybe I just have too much to do and too little time to do it in.

The economic situation that has gripped the nation has affected me as much as anyone else. Not so much that I stay up at night with worry; give me three tarps, my hatchet, a bow saw, and a cast iron dutch oven, and we’ll be fine. But none-the-less, it has put me in a position that I am working twice as hard for half as much as before.

The short and the long of it is that the Three Bar Spear Hacienda may be no more in the near future. I won’t bore you with the particulars, but suffice it to say that Florida was doubled over from the body blows that the hurricanes and insurance companies dished out, and then upper cut and cold cocked by the mortgage meltdown. Anyone whose insurance was dropped by the major carriers saw their insurance rates shoot up by a factor of ten, and the construction industry is still in a flat spin. Either one I could handle by itself, but not both. I’m not crying the blues here, just the cold hard facts.

Well, I’m a proponent of making lemonade when you have lemons. So taking stock of the situation, I mobilized the team and relocated to a more affordable, better situated location. (Better situated for suburban living that is.) Negotiations are ongoing with the mortgage holder, and I am sensing greater flexibility in them than before. But I have a “line in the sand” that they have to come to, one which I won’t cross over for any reason.

I got to thinking about all this as I was driving to yet another jobsite and wondering about all the other bloggers that aren’t posting very frequently. I wonder if they’re feeling it too. You know, that ever-present concern as to what’s coming next; and I don’t mean in a good way either! I suppose if I’m not immune to it then others are feeling it too.

One of the problems I’ve been faced with is the lack of time. My job is a ten to fourteen hour a day gig, and I am glad to have it! But that means we haven’t been able to go fishing in months. I certainly haven’t scouted for hog. I can’t make it out with my neighbor this year for deer. And unless things change soon, forget about spring turkey. So much for my outdoor adventures!

I have been reading a bit though. Again, I won’t bore you with the details, if you look back one post you will see what I have been reading. What I have found is that we, the American people, in general are woefully under informed, unprepared, and uninspired. I didn’t want to add this but I will: We are about the laziest people on the face of this earth. Oh we work hard, but we won’t think anything through ‘cause its just too hard! Critical thinking, that’s what we need more of! Not more of the crying "Why me!" that is so prevalent! (That's me to the left there in'65. Just before my birthday or so I am told.)

This election cycle has been the epitome of advertisement electioneering, on both sides. Obama blames Bush for the failed economic policies of the Clinton years. Clinton’s HUD man Cisneros, and the Federal Reserve point man Greenspan initiated all the credit policies that led to this debacle. Why not point out that McCain smashed up four or five planes as a pilot and that his dad was an admiral. At least that’s true. McCain points to Obama’s lack of experience, as if all the “experience” in Washington has helped us in any way. Maybe he should bring up that Obama has a definite redistributive philosophy at best, or a Marxist streak at worst.

All that aside, it is as if the citizens of this nation have become zombies. The intellectual apathy is unparalleled! Where have we gone wrong? I wish I had easy answers. I have some complicated ones, but no easy ones.

So you now see where I’ve been and where I’m at. Your question must be, “Where are you going!”

Damned if I know.

I don’t know how long it will be before everything is back to its normal everyday chaotic way. I start online classes in journalism come January, while the Mrs and the Bear start their classes at the local Community College also. Thanksgiving is coming up, and Christmas will be a lean affair this year, but I’m building Bubby a pirogue (I’ll Chronicle that!), the Bear a guitar rack for his innumerable guitars, and I’m refinishing and reupholstering a couple of wingback chairs I found tossed next to a dumpster for the Mrs. (It still amazes me what you can learn on the internet.)

I’ll be in and out until things get back to normal. In the meantime I could write social and political commentaries, and I might actually do it, but I’ll have to create another Blog for that. The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles will not be sullied by the filth that surrounds those subjects.

And anyway, I really have to go and pick out the right upholstery fabric for those wingbacks. Somehow I just don’t think she’ll go for the new ACU pattern, or even a retro tiger stripe…

Fondest regards to all my Friends,
Albert A Rasch™
Member: Shindand Tent Club
Member: Hunting Sportsmen of the United States HSUS (Let 'em sue me.)
The Hunt Continues...

Though he spends most of his time writing and keeping the world safe for democracy, Albert was actually a student of biology. Really. But after a stint as a lab tech performing repetitious and mind-numbing processes that a trained capuchin monkey could do better, he never returned to the field. Rather he became a bartender. As he once said, "Hell, I was feeding mice all sorts of concoctions. At the club I did the same thing; except I got paid a lot better, and the rats where bigger." He has followed the science of QDM for many years, and fancies himself an aficionado. If you have any questions, or just want to get more information, reach him via TheRaschOutdoorChronicles(at)MSN(dot)com.

Somethings Never Change... Then Again, Some Do

© By Albert A Rasch

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Prologue:

Every morning, I waltz into the office at about 04:50 AM. I flip on the lights, turn on the coffee machine, and crank up the computer. Usually I delve right into my projects, checking sources, rereading articles, or doing a search on some obscure point or reference. So when it comes on and the cheerful voice of my e-mail alert says “You have mail,” I click on the icon, and lo and behold its not just Kristine (Outdoor Bloggers Summit), but Holly (NorCalCazadora) too. “Aw crap.” I thought. “What I do now?” Anytime two women call, write, or even talk to you, on the same day, the odds of you surviving to nightfall have exponentially risen against you. It doesn’t matter what you have or haven’t done, you’re in for it one way or the other. At least that’s my experience.

Anyway, lucky for me, both the ladies were just concerned with my well being. And now it’s been a few days and nothing bad has happened to me, so I must have ducked that one… whatever it was…

The Irresistible Force Meets the Unmovable Object
(with Albert in the middle…),

or
Out of the frying pan and into the brush fire.

I’ve never felt like Atlas, holding the weight of the world on my shoulders. I’m not one of those pale, over educated, ivory tower types that can’t see much past their moldy noses, moldy tomes, and even moldier philosophies. I’m an action type: Sgt. Rock, Easy Company. That’s my style. Toss in a little Scipio, a dash of Custer, round it out with a sprinkle of Gibbons, and you pretty much got me pegged. But lately things are no longer as simple as they once were.

It all started with Todd’s blog “Primitive Point” and the sudden realization that I too could write for the world at large! I love writing for the Rasch Outdoor Chronicles. It reignited a long dormant passion for learning and communicating. Every one of my posts has told you all something about me and my admittedly parochial view on life and the world around me. Not that I haven’t kept a weather eye on the social and political storms that abound on every horizon, but to me they have always seemed to be way over there, just beyond sight.

It was Denny at Stop MTR that really opened my eyes to the very real disasters that are right at our doorsteps. But the destruction of the Appalachia is just a symptom of the malaise that has gripped our nation and our culture. (Not that it isn’t a critical concern to those that experience the destructive greed and live with it all day, everyday.) But what has motivated me to write this piece is the certainty that there are far worse things out there that have driven and coerced us to accept what is at minimum detrimental, and at worse deadly.

I’ve spent the last few months studying everything from tactical reports coming out of Iraq and Massey Energy’s annual report, to issues around the petro dollar and Euro reserves. I’ve gone through a dozen Congressional Reports on a number of topics, including immigration, strategic postures, business cycles, and gang activity in the United States. Throw in some public policy issues, historical accounts of wars and politics, along with tracking Chinese investments around the world (Less than 50 miles off the Florida Keys, they are sinking a slant drilling oil rig…) and you get the picture. Just yesterday I downloaded and printed “On Point II”, the 730 page self critique that the Army has written on its performance in Iraq. I’ve managed the prologue so far. I’m functioning on four and half to five hours of sleep nightly, and I’ve worn out four highlighters.

Though I have only scratched the surface of the malaise that is destroying our nation, I have already come to few conclusions.

We have developed a political system that, in a nutshell, has created an entrenched privileged class whose only concern is the maintenance and concentration of its power. It doesn’t matter which side of the aisle they sit on, they are all part of the establishment. And the “Establishment” is corrupt. There hasn’t been a single meaningful policy initiative that has come from Washington since the mid-sixties. A list of every cabinet secretary, the congressional leadership, and military flag officers of the 20^th century reads like a who’s who of America’s corporate board of directors. Does the phrase, “potential conflict of interest,” appear in their lexicon? Analysis: “Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

Here are some facts. The coal that is being pulled from West Virginia is a high grade, low sulpher coal that does not go towards energy production. It is used in steel making. (Do we still make steel in this country?) So when you read how Massey is doing its part to help the energy needs of the nation they are just plain lying. The CEO of Massey, Blankenship, basically bought himself a judge, so that Massey could try building another coal scrubber right next to a school; a school that is already in danger of being scoured off its valley home by millions of gallons of toxic wastes from a massive sludge impoundment; an impoundment that is known to be leaking. Analysis: Money talks; truth and justice (and the safety of the citizenry) take a back seat.

We have an educational system that is broken. We spend an enormous sum of money to try to educate our people. The statistics are so bad that I am almost ashamed to write it down. Cities have graduation rates as low as thirty percent! We, as a people, refuse to demand a disciplined classroom, competent teachers, and a high standard of education; we allow every excuse for lack of progress to become the reality. Analysis: There is a lack of strategic vision at every level of government.

We are now “Balkanized” to a degree that will inevitably lead to the disintegration, either physical or otherwise, of the United States. Our own prejudices, coupled with open borders, shortsightedness, and greed, have caused us to fail to “Americanize” immigrants and our social policies have marginalized our own American minorities. This blindness thereby sowed the seeds of separate cultures that have culminated in the “Hoods” of any inner city, the “Muslimization” of parts of Jersey City, the “Mi Barrio” mentality in LA, and the treasonous behavior of the mayor of Brownsville, Texas. Analysis: Greed, racism, and “Political Correctness” have worked hand in hand to destroy national unity and social opportunity.

Do I need to remind you that in many cities in the United States there exist insurgent groups bent on the destruction of our nation? Insurgents just as well armed and definitely better financed than the Mahdi Army in Sadir City, Baghdad. What’s that? You weren’t aware of them? You ever hear of the Bloods and the Crips? The MS13 from El Salvador? How about our own home grown biker gangs like the Outlaws, Mongols, or Hells Angels? These are non-state actors that abide to their own code and none other. Their only aim is to impose their own governance on their turf. They want three things, just like any state or government, Power, Money, and Territory. We need a National policy that will deal with this once and for all. There is no excuse for a Nation as great as ours to have a cancer of that malignancy growing within us. Analysis: The danger is within.

Here is an interesting statistic. There are more law enforcement personnel in the state of California than there are soldiers in Iraq. So which one is more dangerous? What does that tell you?

So where does this leave us?

I bet that many of you where vaguely aware of much of this. But have you really ever given it any thought? I shudder at some of the necessary processes that will be needed to put ourselves back on track. Our government has to be broken from its self-centered, self-serving, and hereditary habits. The people of this country have to take back what is theirs, the government; the government that is rightfully of the people, by the people. And we the people have to decide what kind of nation we want to live in.

A short time ago, I was involved in a particularly heated debate, with a hunter no less, who refused to acknowledge that Mountain Top Removal is an environmental travesty. Though I refuted each and every one of his assertions, my argument held no weight, (As far as he was concerned.), due to his ignorance and inability to follow a line of inquiry to its conclusion. I am certain my logic was irrefutable, but I was not able to sway this person. Critical thinking is no longer thought to be of any use. It’s all about “gettin’ yours.”

The biggest problem is a lack of a sound education policy. Our school systems are a wreck. The system has no accountability, it is chronically underfunded, landowners are forced to pay for schools they don’t use, and there is no telling who’s actually teaching your kids or if they are even safe. I don’t know, but you would think that we would have a national educational system funded through the federal government rather than land taxes, with a minimum standard of knowledge, and a faculty of well paid professionals held to high level of accountability. They are, after all, taking care of our future. Sounds like a sound investment policy to me.

Much of what is done on the Outdoor Bloggers Summit, and all of our affiliated blogs, is in response to abuses by those that are arrogant and accustomed to abusing the good nature of those around them. As a very good friend of mine has told me, “Bad things happen, because good men fail to act.”

It is time to act.

By the way, in case you all think I’ve been doing nothing but pondering weighty problems and their solutions, fret not, for a few nights ago I did entertain myself by fighting a brushfire for the better part of four hours. I’m tired as I write this, but satisfied that I’ve done my part to combat global warming, make the world safe for democracy, and possibly saving my home from a fiery demise.

I will be back and contributing regularly by the end of the month at the latest.

Best Regards!
Albert A Rasch
The Hunt Continues…

Epilouge:

It has been almost a week since Holly and Kristine e-mailed me and I am just now posting this. I am going to make a real effort to put myself on a suitable deadline schedule and conduct my journalistic affairs in an appropriate fashion.

HSUS Investigative Report by ABC Atlanta

HSUS investigation into finances
ABC WSB-TV Atlanta investigation into HSUS
ABC Investigation into HSUS
ABC News (WSB-TV) Atlanta Exposé on HSUS Donations
WSB-TV Investigates HSUS Fundraising Practises




HSUS on the Grill

Where do HSUS Donations Really Go?

How to Support Animal Rights Activists

Spring Hiatus

Friends,

I'm going to have to take a short hiatus, probably about two months or so. I have a few writing projects that are going to require some serious deliberation. One is on mountain top removal, another has to do with military doctrine in the information age, and yet another on occupational safety in construction.

I'll still try to put a few things in occasionally as time permits. I really hate to do this, but there are just not enough hours in the day to do it all!

I'll check in regularly at OBS.

Regards,
Albert A Rasch

Lions in the Yard

© By Albert A Rasch
.

African Lion Hunting... In Florida

“Remember,” I thought to myself, “feed him your left arm first. Maybe one of the kids can manage to scrape him off me if things get dicey.”

Passing thought as a braced myself against the 458's recoil.

It was about 9:30 PM, and I was somewhat between awake and dead to the world, when I felt Cristal’s hands on my chest shaking me back and forth.

“Wake up!” There was urgency in her voice.

I grunted a noncommittal noise and tried to fall back into the darkness beneath my pillow.

Another more vigorous shake. “Albert! Wake Up! It’s an emergency!”

I opened one eye reluctantly. "This had better be good," I thought as I tossed the sheet and blanket to one side, and slid off the side of the bed.

My feet hit the bare floor.

Jordan was standing there, eyes as big as saucers. I didn’t give it much thought at the moment.

“Come outside, and listen carefully.” I stepped through the front door. “Now don’t go too far. Listen!” I obediently stopped and listened.

After a short while the thought of my warm bed and soft pillow was turning me back into the house. I still didn’t know why I was standing barefoot on the brick paver entry, in my Michael Jordan style boxer briefs and a well worn, comfortable T-shirt.

I took one step towards the house when I heard it.

“Hhhuunnnggg, hhhuunnnggg, hhhuunnngg.” I was instantly awake.

Again I heard it. “Hhhuunnnggg, hhhuunnnggg, hhhuunnngg.” The hair stood up at the nape of my neck.

It was the unmistakable sounds of a male African lion.

I know what you’re thinking. “Albert, come on! You expect us to believe this? What do you take us for? Dummies? We all know you live in Florida!” I know it sounds implausible. Keep reading then you can say what you want.

And as far as I could tell he was in or behind the palmetto under that damned Brazilian pepper tree I’ve been meaning to cut down. I really hate those pepper trees. It was maybe forty meters from where I was standing. The moon was almost full, casting everything in that otherworldly silver light.

Frozen in place, I looked up at Cristal and Jordan, now my eyes were as big as saucers.

“Jordan,” I hissed, “get me the .458 and a handful of 510 soft points! Move!” I make a mental note that Charlie the German Sheppard-Lab mix, and Chopper the Basset hound are both peeking out the door. I was pretty sure that Charlie was saying, “Cats are my business, but lions are yours.” Faithful dogs my rear.

Jordan hands me the Ruger #1 and a half dozen rounds of .458 ammo before scampering back to the safety of the house. Without hesitation, I drop a round down the chamber, close the action, and push the safety to off.

I’ve done a considerable amount of reading concerning Africa and its game. For instance, I know that a charging lion will cover a considerable amount of space in a flash. The mane makes his head look larger than it is, so over-shooting the brain is common, and occasionally fatal to the shooter rather than the shootee. “Remember,” I thought to myself, “feed him your left arm first. Maybe one of the kids can manage to scrape him off me if things got dicey.”

So… why am I out here in my own front yard barefoot? And in my underwear? Your guess is as good as mine. I’m glad the weather was mild though. Never being one to underestimate my own abilities, I still thought it prudent to maintain the same forty meter distance from the tree and flank the lion. I figured if he was eating one of the horses or a neighborhood kid he might be too occupied to bother with me. That would give me enough time to sort him out.

It took me about twenty minutes to cover the distance between the door and the front fence line. Step by step I crept. Balls of the feet, then gently lowered heel, carefully, quietly. Right foot over left, left foot behind right.

By the time I hit the fence, the cheeky bugger had somehow moved across the street and further back into the palmetto without me seeing him. Another twenty minutes and several dozen steps later I was standing in the dirt road less than six feet from the Brazilian pepper tree. Twice more the lion had grunted and moved further into the palmetto. But by now he seemed to have moved much, much further in; maybe a hundred meters from where I was. I couldn’t find any pug marks, but I wasn’t looking that carefully; my eyes were ahead, searching the palmetto.

I was debating what to do. For all my bravado and courage, I’m not an experienced lion hunter. Oh sure, I’ve dispatched my fair share of dangerous game… hogs, wild dogs, and rabbit, but lions in a palmetto thicket isn’t my particular specialty. Hell, I didn’t even have a tracker or two to feed him first. I was facing the palmetto, deliberating all of this when it happened.

He charged from less than five meters.

It is true that things go into slow motion when your life hangs by a thread, a single pull of the trigger.

You hear the dried palmetto leaves crackling first. Each individual leaf has its own distinct and unique snap. Your eyes move of their own volition to each and every sound, straining to catch the first bit of movement. You know you only have moments to put your sights on the one point that will guarantee you’ll be having breakfast with a fork, rather than through an intravenous tube. If, you survive. Your body subconsciously braces for the recoil, leading foot points toward the target, trailing foot digs in as your body leans forward. The sights are there, lined up, but not what you are focused on. Everything is super-tuned to that one moment, the one motion, the one and only chance you will have to live one more day. All of this in two heartbeats.

I really thought he’d be noisier. A lion has got to weigh a few hundred pounds. Why was it so light footed?

The sear was a less than a hair’s breadth from being released when TigerKat came bounding out of the palmetto. It was by that same hair’s breadth that he didn’t end up with 510 grains of copper wrapped lead splattering him throughout the countryside.

“Hhhuunnnggg, hhhuunnnggg, hhhuunnngg,” laughed the lion further away still. TigerKat rubbed up against my shins.

I dropped the lever on the #1 and pulled the cartridge out. I threw the Ruger over my shoulder, walked back up the road and then the drive. I didn’t care if a pride of lions burst out of the palmetto and decided to tear me into bite size morsels of Caucasian male hors d’oeuvres. TigerKat followed me, occasionally catching up and then weaving between my legs. Funny how you can walk through all sorts of stuff and not feel a thing when your heart’s beating and nothing else exists but the moment you’re in. Those pavers felt awful hard on my feet.

Cristal was waiting at the door, phone in hand. “Honey, you’re not going to believe this. Grandma says that a wild animal rescue organization has moved in this week. They’re on the property where the rescue dogs where. Over behind the Ramsey’s, remember?” She was pointing across the dirt road.

“I’m going back to bed.” is all I said. Sliding between the sheet and tossing the blanket back over me, I couldn't remember that bed ever feeling that uninviting.

Epilogue:
Cristal and the boys went to visit on Friday. They called me excited about all the animals they saw. We went back on Saturday. My visit was twofold. I wanted to see the animals, and under what kind of conditions they were being held. I am happy to report that the animals are in great condition, including the perpetrator of Thursday’s joke on me. The accommodations are more than adequate and the plans for the facility seem very exciting. I’ll be visiting again when I have an opportunity to give a full report on the animals, the people, and the plans.