Preparing for the Final Frontier

Alpha Centauri A and B

Proxima is inside the red circle

Image By Skatebiker at English Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=46833562

Copyright © 2016

by Ralph F. Couey

Except cited portions

On September15, 1965, the CBS television network debuted a new science fiction show entitled “Lost in Space.”  The Irwin Allen production followed the adventures of the Robinson family who were being sent on an interstellar mission to find a new place for an over-populated earth to call home.  The show was known far more for its campy style than anything else.  The main character became, not the Robinson’s, but the evil conniving Dr. Zachary Smith, who had snuck aboard as a foreign agent to sabotage the mission, but managed to get stuck there when the ship took off.  He was certainly the most buffoonish foreign agent ever, in addition to being a sniveling coward of the first order, and the episodes mainly revolved around Smith doing foolish things to get the Robinson’s in trouble.  It was not intellectual by any stretch, but managed to stay on the air for three seasons before being canceled, according to statements by cast and crew, due to declining ratings and increasing costs.

So what, you may ask.  Well, the destination for the Robinsons and their saucer-shaped Jupiter 2 spacecraft was Alpha Centauri, long known to be the closest star to our own solar system, about 4.2 light years away. According to the plot, there was a planet there that could support human life and it was the Robinson’s mission to survey the planet and report back.

As it has turned out, Irwin Allen seems to have been a prophet.

15 Years: Remembrance and Reflection*

Some of the victims.

Attribution not listed

Copyright © 2016

By Ralph F. Couey


*Johnstown, PA Tribune-Democrat  Sept. 10, 2016

15 years.

For some, it seems a lifetime ago; for others, it was just yesterday.

History is marked by watershed events, a moment in time when the world was changed forever.  The terror attacks of September 11, 2001 were just such a moment.  People describe two worlds, one before 9/11, the other post-9/11.  Our lives, whatever they were the day before, have never been the same.

Terrorist attacks were nothing new.  They had been active for decades, filling the evening newcasts with video of violent death and destruction.  But those attacks had always occurred elsewhere.  Belfast, Beirut, Bogota, and other places, always far away.  But never here; never on our soil.

We had been lulled into a false sense of security, content to live out our lives, safe behind the barriers of our two oceans.

Historian Roberta Wohlstetter in her book "Pearl Harbor: Warning and Decision" described the paralyzing malaise of thought and delusion present before December 7th as "...an unwarranted feeling of immunity from attack."  That statement would apply in June 1950 when the North Koreans stormed south, and again later that year when the Chinese entered the war.

Then came 9/11.

So little do we seem to learn from our own history.

DNA and the Human Journey

Copyright © 2016

by Ralph F. Couey

In recent years, I have developed a growing interest in the history of my family.  Not just the last couple generations, but going back a couple of millennia.  Through some basic research, I had decided that our family was primarily from France, sparking a visit to the remains of the de Coucy castle in northeast France last summer.  After Louis XIV outlawed Protestantism, my progenitors emigrated to County Antrim in what is now Northern Ireland for a century or so, before finally arriving in South Carolina in the 17th century.  Now, with DNA analysis available to the general public, people are able to trace back even further with greater depth.

Out of all the choices out there, I decided to go with National Geographic's Genographic project.  There are others, Ancestry, 23Me for example, but NG has a sort of cachet with me, after growing up with their magazine.

I went online and ordered the kit, paying a reduced price as they were holding a sale at the time.  It arrived about a week later.  Inside the attractive box was instructional paperwork, two swabs, and two containers.  Following the directions carefully, I swabbed the insides of my mouth and dropped the cotton tips into the two containers which I then sealed.  The two containers went into a padded envelope along with a card containing a code which would be used to identify the samples.  That same code was printed in three different places inside the box, for obvious reasons.  Lose the code, and you have no way of tracking the results. 

I went back online and registered, using the code.  I then sat back and waited.  This process takes a long time.  I sent the samples around May 23rd.  I went online occasionally to track the process.  NG acknowledged receiving the samples, and when they had gleaned the DNA samples and applied them to their database.  Finally, around July 21st, I received an email informing me that the analysis was complete and I could read the results.

The Eternal Mystery of the Human Roller Coaster

“The heart is a strange beast and not ruled by logic.”

-- Maria V. Snyder

Copyright © 2016

by Ralph F. Couey

Except quoted and cited passages

 Science has made great strides in the past few decades in understanding human physiology and psychology. Diseases that once ravaged continents have been rendered harmless and even eradicated. Mental disorders that once would have condemned a person to a life sentence in an asylum are now treatable, and in some cases curable. But despite all that has been learned, the human being is still an indefatigable mystery.

The realm of emotion is one that continues to challenge understanding. Unlike other manifestations of the human condition, the study of emotion is not limited to a single discipline. Emotions and their attendant affects are being explored in the fields of psychology, neuroscience, endocrinology, medicine, history, sociology, and even art.

This particular musing crept up on me as I pondered our 38th wedding anniversary (thank you.). I like to humorously say to people, “It’s been 38 years and she hasn’t shot me yet, so it must be true love.” But I was thinking back to that moment in which I first laid eyes upon her. It was in a bowling alley. We were both members of a church league, although we hadn’t yet met. I stood up on the approach, taking that necessary look left and right before addressing the lane. As I looked to my right, about 20 lanes away, my eye was caught by a head of long, black, lustrous hair gleaming under the lights. Now this wasn’t the first girl I had ever seen, nor was it my first head of long hair. But in that moment, something in that sight flipped a switch in my heart. A week later, I asked her out and she said accepted, a rare thing for me on the first try. On our date, I hadn’t been with her more than 15 minutes before I knew without a doubt that she was The One.

Hiking: Part 42

If you can read a topographical map, this will give you a better appreciation for this trail.

Copyright © 2016

by Ralph F. Couey

In the 1930's, the Sierra Club came up with a way to rate the difficulty of hiking trails, which they named the Yosemite Decimal System, or YDS. It breaks down trails into 5 main categories. Class 1 is walking with a low chance of injury, hiking boots a good idea. Class 2 is described as simple scrambling, with occasional use of the hands. Potential danger is low and hiking boots highly recommended. Class 3 means scrambling with increased exposure. Handholds are necessary and Falls could easily be fatal. Class 4 rates out as a trail with simple climbing with exposure. A rope is often used. Natural protection can be easily found. Falls may well be fatal. Classes 5 and 6 are termed "technical", meaning the use of ropes and pitons. I mention this because all of the hikes that I've described in this blog have been Class 3 and below, mostly Class 2's to be honest. Most of the AT hikes I've done involve some steep hills, rocky sometimes unstable surfaces, which is challenge enough for me.

Confessions of a Novice Hiker

Copyright © 2016

By Ralph F. Couey

I’m entering my third year as a day hiker, and while nobody’s ever going to confuse me with Earl Shaffer or even Bill Bryson, I have learned a few things that might be of value to someone who is contemplating spending some time in the woods and on the trail.  These are things an expert may neglect to tell you, mainly because their knowledge is vast and complex.

Hiking is many things.  It’s great exercise, for sure.  But it’s also a way to flee the urban jungle and reconnect with the wilderness.  It is a fine way to challenge one’s self physically, mentally, and emotionally, learning the sometimes hard lesson about false limits.  

Hikers form a broad, loosely defined community, nearly all of them wonderfully nice people who, when encountered on the trail, will treat you with warmth, friendliness, and dignity.  The link all hikers share is the deep affection for what some feel is the vanishing wilderness, and the wonder of nature to be found therein.

Sundays and the Vanishing Community

Copyright © 2016
by Ralph F. Couey

Throughout human history, we have been defined by the sense of community.  Early humans wandered as tribes.  Then with the advent of agriculture, the fixed nature of farming created settlements, villages, and eventually towns and cities.  One of the most profound keystones of community were the houses of faith.  The creation of the congregation, parish, and synagogue created a place where people shared a common faith and belief, where the community gathered at least one day per week.  The church became, in effect, the community itself. 

Births, deaths, and everything in between revolved around that building and that community.  Even once life had concluded, many went to their eternal rest in a cemetery in the churchyard.  For centuries, the church provided the framework of people’s lives. 

My memories of early childhood are all rooted in that church community. My father was a minister, so we spent a lot of time there.  We attended Sunday morning and evening, Wednesday nights, and a couple of nights per week some other kind of gathering, usually more social. I had two separate groups of friends; the secular group from school, and the boys and girls I ran with at church.  While I never understood a single sermon, I did understand the warmth, acceptance, and safety that I found when we gathered together.

We carried that through into our adult lives, hauling our sometimes recalcitrant children along on Sunday mornings.  But as they grew into their adult lives, they also grew away from the church. 

Among their generation is a deep distrust of institutions, both religious and political.  Where I found sanctuary, they see only hypocrisy and scandal.  They are all very principled, moral, and upright adults, who have simply decided that the brick-and-mortar church is not for them.

In the context of their lives, I understand that attitude. It still makes me a little sad, but I understand.  While I would like them to be a part of a faith community, I know that this is their lives to lead, their choices to make.  I raised them to be independent thinkers.  Of all the parenting mistakes I made, at least I got that part right.

Dreams...and the Journey

"Every dreamer knows that it is entirely possible

to be homesick for a place you've never been to, 

perhaps more homesick than for familiar ground."

--Judith Thurman

Copyright © 2016

by Ralph F. Couey

except cited quotes

My life long I have struggled with a nascent restlessness, a yearning for somewhere else; someplace never clearly defined or envisioned.  Perhaps just to see what lay beyond the horizon.  It never seemed to matter how content or comfortable I was at that particular moment, or what strictures on movement the inevitable responsibilities of life imposed.  Structured vacation tours have never interested me.  What I wanted was just to wander off in whatever direction I happened to be pointed, curious to see what I might find along the way.  I found a kindred spirit in Matsuo Basho, the acknowledged master of Haiku, who lived in the late 17th century.  He once wrote, "The journey itself is my home."  

We are a people driven by destination, the unnatural consequence of life lived in the context of accomplishment.  We are unable to leave anywhere without knowing where we will end up.  The journey is spent fretting about how long it's taking to get there.  Once there, we engage in the purpose of that trip, and when that purpose is fulfilled, we set another destination.  Even at the end of the day, we still speak of "going to bed," as if the mattress was just another place on a map.

While going places and doing things are part of what's required of me, I have tolerated those duties.  But where I am truly fulfilled, where I find my greatest peace is in the simple pleasure of wandering.

Hiking: Parts 39, 40, and 41

Copyright © 2016

By Ralph F. Couey

Winter hikes, generally speaking for me, are spur-of-the-moment events, usually triggered by a restless spirit, a few free hours, and a reflective couple of minutes standing outside, testing the climate.  While winter here in Northern Virginia has been pretty mild, except for that one terrible weekend, my required attention to other areas of life kept me out of the woods and off the trail for many of the weeks this year.


The three hikes detailed here were all taken in February and March, with the last one in the first week of April.  The days were similar, starting out cold and windy, and ending...well, not warm but certainly less frigid.  The first one was an attack on the southern end of the Manassas Battlefield National Park.  The trail begins just south of the historic Sudley church and follows an abandoned railroad cut that slices across the park from northeast to southwest.  It was originally intended to be a part of the Manassas Gap Railroad, with this 35-mile section connecting Gainesville and Alexandria.  This stretch was begun around 1850 and was fully graded when the outbreak of the Civil War required the steel for other purposes.  The railroad eventually went broke, but the grading still remains, and can be seen clearly on Google Maps in the terrain mode.

March

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: 

when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.

 ~Charles Dickens (1812–1870),Great Expectations

The calendar is full of days, weeks, and months.  It is also full of other things like memories and celebrations.  But one of the best things is anticipation.


In most parts of the country, January and February consist of one interminable 60-day month.  The days, while growing longer, are still short.  Winter is in full swing with all its attendant meteorological nastiness.  Finally though, February 28th (or 29th) oozes past and March makes it's appearance.  According to tradition, the month comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.  In between, lie days of far contrast with regards to weather.  The winds will blow cold and ice will form.  Then will come a stretch of days when the air warms, the sun shines, and people begin to hope.  But on the heels of those good days, Old Man Winter will storm back with a vengeance, dumping heavy, wet snow and sending the thermometer plummeting.  Then warmth returns and brings with it either gentle showers or strong thunderstorms.  Sometimes those changes can take place over a matter of hours.  I have come to consider March as "the month that can't make up its mind."

Hiking, Part 38

"I go to the woods to be soothed and healed

and have my senses put in order."

--John Burroughs

Copyright © 2015

by Ralph F. Couey

My heart is still heavy after the death of our beloved dog.  Everywhere I look, I see reminders of his life, and his presence in our lives.  I had to get away for a time.  As I do often when life becomes too much, I went to the woods.

The day was forecasted to be warm -- meaning above freezing -- so having a free day, I packed up my gear and headed out.  I chose a piece of the AT I had yet to trek, the section between Virginia Route 7 and US 50 called "The Roller Coaster."  In this 13-mile stretch, there lie 8 hills, ranging from 400 to 1,100 feet in height and the whole section you're either going up a new hill or going down an old one.  I only had a few hours, so I planned a 3-mile out-and-back.

I parked in the dirt lot thoughtfully provided by VDOT, and after gearing up I hit the trail.  The first section was a subtrail that led from the lot to the AT.  It was only 0.2 miles, but it felt longer.  The trail was at first very boggy from the melting snow and the rain from the previous day, but soon became slick.  The snow, still on the ground, had been pounded into slush that had frozen into ice.  It was slow going through this section.  

Love, Loss, and Emptiness

"Dogs lives are too short.

Their only fault, really."

--Agnes Sligh Turnbull

Copyright © 2016

by Ralph F. Couey

He came to us by way of that process somewhat cynically referred to as "reverse inheritance." Our oldest daughter had adopted him out of a litter borne by the dog of a friend of hers in July 1999. No one will ever know what passed between them that made this tiny puppy stand out from the rest. But whatever it was, it was special. She named him after a football player from a movie, Tweeder. But soon it became "Tweeter."


Nikki took him to where she was living, a kind of cooperative Haight-Ashbury kind of set-up where they lived for a short period of time. But some of the other humans residing there were angry and cruel in ways that put his safety in jeopardy. So one evening, she came home and asked us to take care of him until her living situation improved. His sweet spirit won our hearts, and what started out as temporary foster care turned into a permanent home.


He was tiny at first. He could fit inside your palm where he would promptly curl up and sleep. As time went on, he grew from a puppy into a dog. He was smart, and Nikki trained him. He knew immediately to go outside when he had to "go." He had infinite patience, it seemed, only wanting to be loved. He shared the house with a parade of four cats and two other dogs, two very large (in comparison) Samoyeds who, more than any, taught him how to be a dog.


He was fun to play with. He loved balls, loved walks, he could from a standing start leap four feet into the air. Loved to ride in the car. And he was funny. Once we visited some friends, taking him with us (at their invitation). Their dog had been partially hit by a car and was still healing from an injured leg. The dog limped around the room garnering all sorts of human attention and sympathy.

Tweeter was watching.

Loving Our Political Neighbor*

*Saint's Herald 12/2006

Copyright © 2006 by Ralph Couey

As I write this, the political season is upon us in full bloom. On street corners and in front yards, signs touting candidates and issues have sprung from the ground like toadstools after a heavy rain. Every article reporting news items in newspapers and magazines seems to have attached a political spin, turning seemingly minor incidents into major events. Political ads on television and radio assault our senses with accusatory and conspiratorial voices spewing vitriol and, more often than not, benign facts twisted into inflammatory allegations. From every direction and every side we are bombarded with these hailstones of hate. Voters complain every year about negative campaigning, but innumerable studies have shown that of all the messages of politics assailing our senses, it is the negative ones that stick with us.

In the days before cable news channels and the internet, politics occupied our consciousness only during the 6 months between the primary and general elections. And once the elections were over and the races decided, everyone went back to business as usual. We laughed at Gomer Pyle, The Beverly Hillbillies, Get Smart, and Green Acres, enjoying family-oriented humor completely free of the often pointed political undertones of today. Mission: Impossible, Ironside, and Mannix, returned uninterrupted to one of the three television channels we received and weather and the health of Our Quarterback returned to the primacy of news coverage. The evolution of the electronic media has expanded the time scale of these debates. Now, the so-called “election cycle” is continuous, as issues, some so minor as to be laughable, are now inflated beyond their relative importance and lifted to the level of the “national debate.”

This has even invaded the formerly pristine space of our personal relationships. Nowadays, two people can be having an otherwise cordial, even warm conversation until the revelation that they stand on opposite political sides cools the conversation, and the space between them becomes brittle and cold.

Our world has changed, and we have changed with it. Even things as mundane as a trip to the grocery store has become infused with politics, as shoppers read labels looking for “dolphin safe tuna” and perhaps conducting our own personal boycott against brand names that are connected to support for, or stances against any number of issues.

The Universe, and Defining "Far, Far Away"

Gliese 581d orbiting it's red star

 © Space.com

Copyright © 2016

by Ralph F. Couey

Except attributed images.

It is the gift of the human curiosity and the power of the mind that allows us to look up into the night sky and think about what's out there.  People have been doing that for millions of years, always curious, always wondering.  Our literature and entertainment reflect that curiosity through the frequent use of space and alien planets in books, television and movies.  We have, vicariously at least, traveled far on voyages driven by the power of imagination.  But it goes beyond mere diversions.

One of winter's singular charms is the ability for us to view the night sky in high definition.  the stars shine bright and clear and somehow seem closer.  Last night after I returned home late from work, I took a moment to look up.  Above me hung the familiar constellation of Orion the Hunter.  My eyes traced the familiar stars, Betelgeuse and Bellatrix, Saiph and Rigel marking the corners of the formation, and the belt stars, Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka.  Below the belt was the fuzzy patch of the Orion Nebula where new stars were being born as I watched.  The constellation, as are nearly all of them, is an illusion born by perspective.  The stars are not adjacent to each other, but rather range in distances from 700 to 2,000 light years. If the Earth was a light year or so to the left or right, our constellations would look very different.  Still, I remain fascinated by the stars, and the universe in which they inhabit.

For thousands of years, we only knew the stars and the planets in our own solar family.  In recent years, however, planets outside the solar system have been discovered, some 1,906 in 1,208 other solar systems.  The first reaction most humans have to that news is, "Are they inhabited?"

Notes From Inside The Blizzard of 2016

Copyright © 2016

by Ralph F. Couey

For a week they warned us.  The Big One was coming, the blizzard to end all blizzards.  At least until the next one, anyway.  Television meteorologists are sometimes accused of over-hype, but that was not the case for this epic weather event.

The initial predictions were in the 10 inch range.  But as the days passed, the forecasted snow totals went up.  In the last 12 hours before the first flakes began to fly, we were told to expect 20 to 30 inches.  With the forecasts came warnings from city, county, and state officials to stock up the home larders and be home or shelter in place by 5 pm Friday.  

Up till that week, Northern Virginia really hadn't seen any snow.  Oh, there had been one or two instances of flurries and snow showers, but nothing that left any trace of its passage.  Then on Wednesday, an inch of snow fell in the area.  Many counties made the decision to not pre-treat the roads, as the temperatures would cause the brine mixture to freeze.  The result was predictable.  The light snowfall became ice and 150 motorists came to grief across the DMV as a result.  This caused a great deal of apprehension.  Here we were staring down the barrel of an historic blizzard after the unreasonable chaos resulting from just an inch of snow.

Thursday was sunny, if exquisitely cold, the wind bringing a bite to the already chilly temperatures.  All day long, on radio, TV, and in the papers, the mantra continued.  Stock up, make plans, prepare to hunker down until at least Monday.  Friday dawned cloudy and chilly, and people took the morning and early afternoon to complete preparations.  The first flakes arrived here in Loudoun County around 12:30, light snow which lasted for a bit, then stopped.  The big stuff arrived about a half-hour later and immediately the grass and roads began to turn white.  Cheryl was on call overnight Friday, and the hospital management mandated that they stay the night there, rather than take the chance of not being able to answer an emergency call.  I drove her there about 5:00.  The snow had really picked up by then and was already several inches deep on the roads.  Still, we got there without too much drama.  She went in, and I went home.

Humans and Heavy Snow

From the Web

Unattributed, which is a shame

because this is so hilarious.

And so true.

Copyright © 2016

by Ralph F. Couey

There are, as you know, four seasons, each with their own beauty and challenges.  Spring brings strong spring thunderstorms and tornados, while covering the world with new life and wildflowers.  Summer is heat and humidity, and is also the time for family and games. Fall is the breathtaking colors of the trees, and the bite of the first frost.

Winter, of course, is snow.  And cold.  Short days and long nights.  But it's also a time of matchless beauty.  Who hasn't been amazed at the diamond twinkles of an untouched snowfield under a brilliant sun?  And there simply is no better time to stargaze.

Winter is different, depending on where a person lives.  If you're lucky enough to live in Florida or Southern California, then you have (comparatively) warm temps, sun, and occasionally rain.  If you're in the mountain west, its months of bitter cold and endless snowstorms.  The midwest and south have their share of snow, but the real worry are the ice storms that destroy powerlines and trees.  In the east, New England is positively polar.  Here in the Mid-Atlantic, Winter is mostly cold and occasional snow, which is usually good because so many people move here from other places, usually people who become complete idiots when there is any precipitation.  

Yesterday, the DC area had one inch of snow.  One inch.  The result was a mess of catastrophic proportions on area freeways.  Area law enforcement logged over 150 vehicle accidents during an evening commute that for some stretched into 6 hours.

But that was only the opening act.  Tomorrow, January 22nd will see the area blasted by a classic nor'easter storm.  The snow will start early afternoon Friday and will fall heavily until pre-dawn Sunday.  Forecasters in describing the storm have used the term "historic."  Snowfall forecasts are running from 12 inches on the Eastern Shore of Maryland to over 30 inches in the suburbs of Northern Virginia.  For the first time in living memory, the entire region is under a blizzard warning.  The effect on a population who couldn't handle one inch of the white stuff has been an entertaining laboratory of human misbehavior.

Hiking, Part 37

I take my heart for a walk in the woods

and listen to the magic whispers

of the old trees.

--Unknown

Copyright © 2015
by Ralph F. Couey
Except quoted and cited passages.

It was a gloomy winter day, made even more dull by the absence of any snow during this thus far anomalous winter.  The temperatures were chilly, in the upper 40's with the air still damp from overnight rains.  Not much of a day to be outside, but I was in a restless mood and I needed some time in the woods.

I had a few hours, so I chose a place relatively close to home. Bull Run Mountains Conservancy controls a patch of land within the larger 12,000 acres of the Bull Run Mountains Special Project Area.  Within those 2,500 acres, situated just north of Thoroughfare Gap, are a network of trails.  One of them ascends to the top of the ridge, called High Point, a rocky outcrop from where stunning views of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the intervening valley can be experienced.  That was my target on this day, but the Conservancy had closed that particular trail for an indefinite period of repair.  Coming face to face with a wire barrier, I shrugged to myself and decided instead to explore the other trails within the area.

I left the parking area and crossed the Norfolk & Southern railroad tracks and headed into the woods.  I passed the stone walls of the Beverley Mill, partially restored.  A bit further, I came upon the remains of a structure identified on the map as the "upper mill."

The Affection for the Past

Copyright © 2016

by Ralph F. Couey

"Nostalgia is a useless, futile thing because it is a

longing for something that is permanently lost."

--Dave Nicholls

It catches me in my most unguarded moments, sweeping me away on a wave of yearning; I become temporarily a prisoner of a snippet of memory made sweet by a selective form of recollection.  In a present fraught with stress and overwork hunted by a future whose strongest attribute is uncertainty, my mind is taken over by a scene, a random event from the past that seems so much more peaceful...and safe...than I now feel.

Humans have the capacity for memory storage, a seemingly vast collection of both the important and the trivial; the taste of certain meal or the feel of the perfect summer day.  We remember passwords and team rosters, but sometimes struggle over where the car keys went.  Still, the brain is a remarkable instrument.

Within my brain reside memories of my life; events and people mainly.  But once in a while, it will dredge up a brief random recollection which brings a sad kind of smile and a silent eulogy for what was.  The present is a busy one, every hour of every day filled with a demand or sense of duty for seemingly every other minute.  I can, thanks to memory, go back instantly to a spring day, my 7th birthday when my parents gave me two boxes to open, both containing the kind of gifts dear to the heart of a boy, a moving van and a fire truck.  Sometimes looking at a picture from the distant past, I am at a loss to recall that particular moment.  But this one I remembered.  The above photo was taken by my Dad as I played with my new toys, momentarily distracted by something on a black-and-white television.  Probably The Jetsons or Top Cat.  That day I remember as a good day, because I was off from school, I had the whole summer before me, and a couple of snazzy trucks to fill those hours.  I remember running them around the carpet, making engine and siren noises, and just plain having fun. 

Homelessness, and Finding Hope

Blaisdell Park, Pearl City, Hawaii

From Barry@mypearlcity.com

Copyright © 2016 by Ralph F. Couey

Written material only.

It was the 5th day of my 10-day stay in Hawaii.  I woke up early to go for a run.  I had been chugging up the long hill of Waimano Home Road for a couple of days, so I decided to seek an easier route.  I drove down the hill to Blaisdell Park, what used to be called Pearl Harbor Park, perched along the shoreline of East Loch in Pearl Harbor.  There was an asphalt trail there that runs just over 5 miles from Aiea Bay Park to the Honolulu Police Academy in Waipahu.  On my previous visits, I had made frequent use of the trail, mainly for walking.  My memory of the trail is mainly of illegal trash dumps along the waterfront fighting for visual space with the magnificent views of the harbor.  Of course, it's been 11 years since my last visit, so the area has changed.

I pulled into the parking lot at Blaisdell Park, and after stretching, headed for the trail.  The first thing that caught my eye was a line of tents between the trail and the water.  As I came closer, I realized that this park had become one of many of the homeless encampments on O'ahu.  

I headed west towards the Navy base, and as I ran, I saw that there were encampments almost all along the trail, essentially wherever there was space to pitch a tent.  Remembering that this was where trash used to be dumped, now people are dumped.

Homelessness is a national problem, but an especially acute one for Honolulu.  In June 2015, the City conducted a point-in-time survey of the camps and concluded that there were just under 5,000 homeless people on O'ahu.  This equates to a rate of 487 per million, the highest in the United States.

There are several elements that drive this crises.  Hawaii in general, and Honolulu in particular, is one of the most expensive places in the world to live.  It is estimated that a family of 4 requires a monthly income (after taxes) of just under $4,000.  Rents run from around $1,600 to more than $5,000, and what is available at the low end would embarrass a lawnmower, let alone a family.  Because almost all the food has to be shipped from the Mainland (as the locals call the lower 48) it is shockingly expensive.  Put simply, living here is just as expensive as Manhattan.

Hiking, Part 36

Aiea Ridge

Copyright © 2015

by Ralph F. Couey

Words and pictures.

For the last hike on this trip, I chose the Aiea Valley.  This hike follows a contour just below the ridge line, so takes you above the valley, not in it.  As it turned out, that's a good thing.

The trailhead starts at the entrance to Keaiwa Heiau State Park.  A Heiau is a sacred place to the Hawaiian people, usually a burial ground.  After parking, we found the trail and headed up.  The character of the terrain and vegetation reminded me a lot of the Appalachian trail.  The trail cut into the hillside and flanked by a forest of conifer and deciduous trees.  The trail surface was a mixed bag, sometimes dry and fast, sometimes wet and slow, and at one point just downright boggy.  But a fun trail, nonetheless.