by Ralph Maltese | Aug 27, 2017 | Uncategorized
Westward Ho! On the Road Part 1
Travelogue to Colorado
Polley and I enjoy visiting Colorado. Montana and Wyoming and North Dakota are also beautiful, but the state that spawned John Denver’s Rocky Mountain High has become our favorite. Colorado has the advantage of being wild without being desolate. In Montana if one river or stream is not productive for fly fishing, I have to drive 200 miles to the next river or stream. In Colorado the choices, prime fly fishing venues, along with supermarkets, restaurants, and liquor stores are closer together. Drive up a remote mountain pass as we did through Kebler’s Pass outside of Crested Butte and you are likely to stumble upon a very populated resort like Lake Irwin, an alpine waterway with paddle surfers and water skiiers. It looked so inviting that, were we not lost in Kebler’s Pass due to less than ideal signage and a jogger who nefariously gave us incorrect information, I considered spending a day at Lake Irwin. Next trip….perhaps on the way home.
People are surprised that we drive to the West. Flying would be faster, but airlines charge for extra bags. Fly fishing waders, wading staff, fly rod, boots, tackle, and twenty reserve fly boxes (carrying flies to meet every possible hatch situation; Polley has the same attitude toward packing clothes, anticipating every possible weather situation and social event, including the remote chance that we would join the Queen of England for tea), along with a rental car, makes flying a less attractive option.. The major reason why we choose to drive is that it allows us to visit our daughter Meredith and her husband Ronak in St. Louis, as well as Polley’s sister Martha in Columbia, Missouri and her children. Add in an uncle and friends in Kansas City and a cousin in Colorado and we have not only a fly fishing trip but a family pilgrimage.
Another major factor in committing at least six days of our lives to cruising along Interstate 70 is Polley’s love of driving. She is from St. Louis, and Midwesterners view distance differently from us easterners. Iowa basketball fans are known for driving in the middle of winter one hundred miles to a high school game. In the East, driving one hundred miles could take one through four states. More on that later.
Preparing for a long trip is itself a project. Mail and newspaper subscriptions must be halted, neighbors alerted. My responsibility includes getting the car ready. Since it was against my father’s self-honed religion to buy a new car, as a kid it was my job to anticipate the inevitable breakdown we would suffer on our camping and fishing trips. I retain that mindset. I buy a new car at about the same interval as Haley’s Comet visits the earth. In 1980, we planned a family trip to Yellowstone, and I had just 3 months earlier purchased a brand new, white Oldsmobile Cutlass Cruiser station wagon. Remember station wagons? The new car smell still permeated that Olds with the fake wood paneling. The day before our embarkation, I made a speech to my four children, a la General Patton only without the profanity and riding crop although the tone was the same. “We [meaning me] want to keep this new car as clean as possible, so, kids, there will be NO eating in this car. We will stop along the road for lunch and snacks. NO, I repeat, NO eating!!” My children were expert travelers, and we loved taking them places, but they were children. By the time we were a little ways past Harrisburg I was throwing Cheetos over my shoulder into the back seat. On that trip I believe the Prime Movers of the Universe punished me for my automobile arrogance and ignorance. I-70 was not completed around Columbus, Ohio, and I had to concentrate on the traffic, which was heavy, and on the detour signs. My children chose this moment to initiate a fight in the “backest,” (our back seat and the farther back luggage area—seat belts?).
Repeated admonitions by Polley and me resulted in short term peace treaties. I finally lost it. “If you kids don’t stop fighting, I am going to pull over and stop the car!!!!” Polley looked at me as if I had undergone a frontal lobotomy. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw my children collectively shrug. What kind of a threat was that? If we don’t go anywhere, then you don’t go anywhere either. Of course, my threat rose from the deep recesses of my childhood, and the words were those of my farther. My ultimate punishment on that trip was imposed thirty miles from St. Louis, thirty miles from family and rest and thirty miles from a cold Budweiser on the last stretch of I-70 in Illinois. Orange Construction Sign (the dreaded bane of any road warrior):“Fresh tar laid on road. Drive slowly.”
I spent the next three days in my inlaws’ driveway trying to remove specks of black tar from my brand new Cutlass Cruiser.
On our latest trip to Colorado, we rose early as we usually do. On the way west the sun is at your back in the early part of the day, and in your face in the afternoon when you begin to tire of driving. In less than two hours we are past Harrisburg, heading for the mountain tunnels on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Pennsylvanians, including me, forget how scenic and just plain beautiful their state is. I was told that in western PA, the turnpike follows a railroad line, curvy and twisting. You have to be careful. Humming along at 65 or 70 miles per hour in the left lane you can round a turn and almost kiss a slow passing truck if you are not careful. At New Stanton we leave the turnkpike and continue on 70 through Washington, PA. These fifty miles slow us down, the narrow lanes and heavy traffic and little or no shoulders make the turnpike look like a speedway. Six hours after waking up at 6 AM we hit our neighboring state, West Virginia where our big decision is whether or not to take the 470 Bypass around wheeling. We usually do, although taking regular 70 through the city does not seem to take more time.
“Wild and wonderful” West Virginia is traversed in the blink of an eye. As most people know, in 1861 the residents of the western counties of Virginia, led by Francis Pierpont, set up a separate government (which they called the “restored government”) and broke away from their fellow Virginians who advocated slavery and states’ rights over the preservation of the Union. West Virginia became a state in 1863. Who would have thunk the difference one hundred and fifty years made?
Upon entering Ohio, for us, the Midwest commences. I know that western Pennsylvanians and West Virginians often identify themselves culturally as Midwesterners, but, in truth, they are almost-Midwesterners, influenced by their western neighbors but still retaining one foot in an eastern perspective. Ohio is all Midwest.
We cross 220 miles of the state seemingly quickly. St. Clairsville, Columbus, Dayton fly by. Rufus Pitman led some pioneers to establish Marietta, Ohio as the first permanent settlement in the Northwest Territory in 1788. I imagine they took a great deal longer than we did. Since we are, and will be, on the road for a long time, it should be noted that Cleveland, Ohio sported the first traffic light in 1914. Sometimes I think it might be nice to make a slight diversion and see that historic traffic light. Next trip…..perhaps on the way home.
Polley and I smile broadly as we enter Indiana. Our inner happiness is augmented by memory. We met in graduate school in Indiana University, fifty miles south of Nap Town (Indianapolis). Bloomington, Indiana will always recall in our combined memories those days of our youth when every inhaled breath filled our bodies with energy and our souls with promise.
We also know that the day of driving is almost ended, and we must decide whether to find a motel in Richmond, one on the other side of Indianapolis or an inn in Terra Haute on the border of Illinois. We choose Terra Haute for two reasons: the more distance we travel on the first day, the less mileage we have to cover the second day which means more time in St. Louis with Meredith. So we push ourselves. The second reason is that Terra Haute has a really good Steak and Shake.
As we drive through Indy we notice highway 37 South toward Bloomington, and we are tempted to make a diversion and visit old haunts and recapture those youthful feelings, but we want to see our daughter. Next trip….perhaps on the way home.
Sated by Steak and Shake’s burgers and fries, we collapse in the motel in Terra Haute, 12 hours of driving and 750 miles under our belt. We drift off dreaming of new adventures…..like enduring Illinois.
by Ralph Maltese | Aug 13, 2017 | Uncategorized
Leave It To Beaver, Redux
Last month, on our trip to Colorado, I bought myself another hat—-It has a picture of a leaping rainbow trout and the logo “Willow Fly Anglers.” When we got home, I tossed it on my pile of hats accumulated down through the ages. Apparently the Willow Fly Anglers hat was the last straw—-the pile came tumbling down. As I rebuilt the mountain of hats, memories of their acquisitions and associations returned. There were the assistant soccer coaches’ hats I wore when my children played the sport, various chapeaus from fly fishing venues, including New Zealand. There is the dressy black hat I purchased in Sicily. Putting it on reminds me of the Frosty the Snowman song: “There must have been some magic in that old black hat they found, for when they placed it on his head, he began to dance around.” When I put the Sicily hat on, I feel like when I walk down the block, I own the block.” There are the two caps recognizing Villanova’s basketball championships in 1985 and 2016…..just thought I would drop that in. There is my broad brimmed hat modeled on the one worn by Indiana Jones which I only wear when I go on adventures.
What I don’t have is a beaver hat.
I have been reading a great deal of British history lately, and the King’s armies seemed to be fitted with beaver hats. Why beaver?
“From fur pelts three primary materials used in clothing production can be derived: the full pelt (fur and skin), leather or suede (the skin with all furremoved, and felts (removing the fur from the pelt, and processing it with heat and pressure to form a piece of pliable material). Due to the strength and malleable quality of felts, they were used extensively in hat making. The physical structure of beaver fur predisposes it to the felting process, making it a highly desirable fur for felt production.”
http://cwh.ucsc.edu/feinstein/A%20brief%20history%20of%20the%20beaver%20trade.html
That should satisfy your curiosity about fur pelts and fur felts.
In Europe the major supplier of beaver fur was Russia. By the late 1700’s, even Russia was over beavered. Filling the void was the soon-to-be United States and Canada, both of which became optimal suppliers of beavers….dead beavers, that is. This economic enterprise sprouted the Mountain Men like Kit Carson and Jedidiah Smith and John Colter (of Lewis and Clark fame) and Jim Bridger.
Head apparel is one of those trendy fashion things. Growing up in the fifties, I noticed that all men, including my father, wore hats, those floppy crowns sported by Ralph Kramden and Ed Norton in the Honeymooners. 
“Beaver felts were used to make beaver hats. Hats, like other forms of dress, played a large role in reflecting one’s social identity. The shape and style of one’s hat indicated to a passerby one’s profession, wealth, and social rank and position. Color, shape, and material all carried specific meaning. In Ecclesiastical heraldry, for example, a red, wide-brimmed hat clearly indicated that its wearer was a cardinal, and interactions required a specific social protocol. In seventeenth century England, the shape and style of one’s hat reflected political and religious affiliation. Due to the expense of a beaver hat, being able to purchase one made a visual statement about one’s wealth and social status.” 
(photo courtesy of http://dappledphotos.blogspot.com/2005/11/capelli-e-galeri.html )
http://cwh.ucsc.edu/feinstein/A%20brief%20history%20of%20the%20beaver%20trade.html
Alas, all good things must come to an end. Just as over trapping in Russia resulted in a scarcity of European beaver, over trapping in North America caused the fur trade to dry up. There were other factors.
“The fur trade started to decline in the Eastern United States by the late 1700’s. The decline resulted chiefly from the clearing of large areas for settlement. As more and more land was cleared, fur-bearing animals became increasingly scarce. Over trapping of fur-bearing animals hurt the fur trade in the Western United States and Western Canada. In addition, the value of beaver fur dropped sharply in the 1830’s, when European hat manufacturers began to use silk instead of felt. By 1870, most fur-trading activity had ended.” http://www.montanatrappers.org/history/fur-trade.htm
So what happened to the Mountain Men? To Kit Carson and Jedidiah Smith and John Colter, and Jim Bridger? I did some research and nowhere did I discover that any of the Mountain Men petitioned the presidential candidates, Ulysses S; Grant or Horace Greeley to bring back beaver trapping. I did learn that on “March 1, 1872, President Grant played his role, in signing the “Act of Dedication” into law. It established the Yellowstone region as the nation’s first national park,.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Presidency_of_Ulysses_S._Grant#Yellowstone.2C_buffalo.2C_and_conservation an act which would have protected beavers rather than make them fair game. And neither Grant nor Greeley campaigned to “Bring back beaver trapping!!!”
The Mountain Men knew their ways of making a living were means discarded on the dustbins of history. As the fur trade declined, mountain man Robert Newell told Jim Bridger: “[W]e are done with this life in the mountains—done with wading in beaver dams, and freezing or starving alternately—done with Indian trading and Indian fighting. The fur trade is dead in the Rocky Mountains, and it is no place for us now, if ever it was.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mountain_man
So what happened to the Mountain Men? Kit Carson became a guide for western explorers and for the U.S. Army fighting Native Americans….hey, it was a living. John Colter became a farmer, Jedidiah Smith a cartographer. Jim Bridger?
“I have established a small store, with a Black Smith Shop, and a supply of Iron on the road of the Emigrants on Black’s fork Green River, which promises fairly, they in coming out are generally well supplied with money, but by the time they get there are in want of all kinds of supplies. Horses, Provisions, Smith work &c brings ready Cash from them and should I receive the goods hereby ordered will do a considerable business in that way with them. The same establishment trades with the Indians in the neighborhood, who have mostly a good number of Beaver amongst them.” Jim Bridger http://xroads.virginia.edu/~hyper/hns/mtmen/jimbrid.html
The Mountain Men adapted.
Today I find a touch of irony in the conservatives who advocate smaller government doling out less help to those who need it until they themselves need bigger government to provide more help to rescue them, begging presidents and congressmen to bring back jobs that have gone the way of the whaling industry and beaver trapping. Recent history provides two examples: car manufacturers who whine about government interference and regulations yet who screamed successfully for a bail out; and, in 2008, the banks. Same thing.
As a former teacher, I believe that education is at the heart of every issue. Instead of schools preparing students for the 1950’s, focusing on the low level skills like memorization (cramming for a test and forgetting all content within two days or less according to research) and preparing students for jobs which may or may not exist in the near future, (the job a student preps for his freshman year of college will mostly likely change by the time he graduates), schools should rethink the problem. The emphasis should be, in all subjects, the development of high level thinking skills such as analysis, synthesis, making connections, and creative problem solving. Throw in critical thinking skills and we begin to help students adapt to change. Alvin Toffler in his 1970’s book Future Shock cautioned that the average high school student then would wear several hats during a career involving six or seven jobs. Students, to survive, would have to learn, unlearn, and learn again.
Admittedly if a candidate trying to win my vote told me the truth and said, “It will be challenging…you will have to work hard to adapt and change professions as the economic and geopolitical climates change.” I would not like that message. Of far greater appeal would be the candidate who promises unreality: “We’re gonna bring back beaver trapping!” Unlike the mountain men and their ability to adapt and persevere, we have localalized mini cultures which eschew the lessons of history and fight changing realities. A portion of this population is basing its hopes that beaver trapping will return, that beaver hats will return as fashion. As we all do at times, this mini culture is basing its hopes on fantasy instead of taking charge of its future.
“Wisdom is knowing what to accept.” Wallace Stegner
Those of us who don’t fall for those false hopes, who have studied history and are not daunted by the new realities, can only don their Indiana Jones’ hats and plow forward against the prevailing wind.
A beaver should not give its life so I can cover my receded (more accurately, what is the past plu-perfect participle of receded?) hairline. Nor should I expect that beaver hats will once again become the rage. My Villanova 2016 National Basketball Champions fits just fine, thank you.
