Swan Falls

Ever notice how the slightest taste of something can bring you back to a time forgotten?

Sitting in my office as the clock strikes five, having just wrapped up the last-minute details on a rather oppressive report, I had just such an experience. The report I just finished was the culmination of tons of research, an extensive writing-by-committee experiment gone awry, and a series of deadlines that always seemed to move up without warning. Nothing like finding out on Saturday night that you unexpectedly need to rush a project to completion by Tuesday--and not receiving needed comments on a prior draft version until Monday afternoon.

All this is a long-winded way to say that I'm drinking beer. More precisely--OE. Ah yes, the 8-ball of yesteryear. For the uninitiated, it's a rather vile malt liquor most commonly consumed 40 ounces at a time by those who can't afford anything better. Its only redeeming quality is that it is produced by the Miller Brewing Company of Wisconsin fame.

While I began drinking before the legal age of 21, I didn't start drinking until I was out of high school. It was during this initial post-high-school-graduation period of discovery that I was initiated to Olde English 800. What a terrible concoction--I'd probably have been better off staying away. But I didn't.

A good friend of mine and I used to work together at a local restaurant and, at the time, I owned a 1970 Chevy Blazer. While it was more monster truck than effective mode of transportation, and may even have violated the neighborhood restrictive covenants when parked in the driveway, it got us around--9 miles per gallon at a time. On more than one occasion, following what typically would have been a terrible shift in the kitchen, him and I would load up on OE and take the Blazer down to swan falls. With OE in hand, we'd find a remote campsite and build the largest bonfire around. Drinking OE by the 40, we'd listen to the sturgeon jumping in the Snake River and tell stories until sun-up.

I imaging generations of 18-year-olds have similar experiences. It doesn't get much better than good friends, camping and cheep beer when you don't know any better.

Condolences

In case you missed it, Oregon dismantled Oregon State in last week's Civil War. While not couch-burning exciting, it was a great win--most likely sending Oregon to the Holiday Bowl while denying Oregon State the Rose Bowl.

However, it wasn't all fun and games. You see, although I'm a proud alum of the University of Oregon, my entire immediate family either graduated from or is attending Oregon State University. Thus, I offer sincere condolences to my family. While I decided it best not to send roses given the current circumstances, please know that I am keeping you in my thoughts. As they say, time eases all pain.

Thanksgiving

A while ago I posted a rant of sorts about how economic uncertainty had affected my prospects for an exciting new job. Well, now that America is fully committed to an economic recession, the local impacts to Lander are widening.

This week, the Wyoming Association of Nonprofit Organizations announced that it would suspended all activities effective January 1 due to a lack of funding. The week before, Wyoming Conservation Voters Education Fund decided to close its Lander office effective immediately (although I haven't seen an official press release). Additionally, a month ago, Wyoming Legal Services, a non-profit law firm that provides free legal representation to low-income residents of Wyoming and operates an office in Lander, "relinquished" its federal grant for failing to adhere to government regulations and grant requirements.

On this stage--with two friends out of work because of these closures, a neighbor forced out of retirement and a Congress that can't seem to address the recession's local effects--The Wife and I found ourselves celebrating Thanksgiving among good friends and too much food. Our weekend will consist of Christmas decorating (since I insist on making The Wife wait until after Thanksgiving before subjecting me to the music and decorations), a continuation of our eternal quest for more firewood, the civil war (although a better prediction of the outcome can be found here), a little work and maybe even some fishing. Yes, I have a ton to be thankful for.

Tetons

I ended up in Jackson for work this past Monday.
While I may get tired of this view someday, Monday was not that day.

Of firewood and whitefish

After fighting with a borrowed saw last weekend, The Wife and I bucked up and bought our own chainsaw--a Husqvarna 445. I'm sure a professional tuneup would have helped the borrowed saw immensely, but it took us five hours to fill our truck with the borrowed saw. The new saw got the truck filled in about one hour.

Since we made quick work of our logging operation, we had plenty of time left over for a little fishing. I'm not sure why, but I've been slaying the whitefish recently.
The dogs even got in on the action:
While whitefish are good and all, we really wanted to get into a couple trout. You see, The Wife produces a periodic newsletter called The TroutTale--and what good is a newsletter called The TroutTale if you only have pictures of whitefish. Eventually, I got into a cutthroat and Russ gave it the full supermodel treatment.